


Servile

by calrissian18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ALL THE SCARY WARNINGS DO NOT REFER TO THE HARRY/DRACO, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Bottom Draco, Dry Humping, Erectile Dysfunction, Historical References, Intense Self-Doubt, Jealousy, Lots of Character Death - Nothing Major, M/M, Major Character Injury, Not Your Average Bear... Slave!fic, Original Characters - Monsters - Creations, Past Relationship(s), Pining Harry, Rape, Slavery, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 14:58:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 68,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I would love anything you gifted me, My Lord, but this,” silver eyes, the same shade as the dragon that marked Harry's arm, glinted in his direction under the Death Eater’s hood, “is exquisite.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Servile

**Author's Note:**

> This is not your normal Slave!fic because I do not like the standard line at all, where the slave is regularly treated like scum, _enjoys_ his "punishments" and eventually falls for his captor. That, to me, is markedly stupid.

_A gift freely given.  
_

Rainwater ran down the walls of his prison, coating them with slime and encouraging the fungus that lined every inch of the dungeon to spread and propagate. The dull torchlight flickered over the slick stone in time with his irregular heartbeat. He dragged his palms and knees through the shallow, frigid puddles as he crawled, miniscule pebbles embedding themselves in his most recent open sores. He could vaguely hear the footfalls of his _guard_ , though what he was guarding him from or against he was no longer sure. He heard the scuttling sound of a well-fed rodent before it ran over his knuckles with tiny, nearly pressure-less motions. He no longer even retained the will to be revolted.  
  
He was accustomed to the creatures by now as they shared the grungy floor of his cell and crawled over his flesh as he slept; he nearly managed a shiver at the thought. Unfortunately, his almost-shiver slowed him just enough that he gained a kick in his injured side from the steel-toed boot of his companion.  
  
 _Hateful bastard_ , he thought bitterly as the man angled his heel so that it cracked one of his three exposed ribs. He barely felt the intense pain as his side was already throbbing, infected, and festering. Without the constant Stasis spells he would have been dead at least three times over by now. The man yanked on the tie around his neck, _the leash_ , he supposed you could call it, and pulled him up forcibly to his former position.  
  
He coughed and sputtered, his airway constricted for nearly a minute. His eyes watered violently but he managed to regain himself gracelessly. Not that he minded, any sense of dignity he had possessed had long since been stripped from him.  
  
He noticed painfully that tiny pieces of gravel had wormed their way into the wound patterns on his back. He whimpered slightly and continued his degrading crawl on shaky limbs, the shackles on his wrists making his movements slow and stilted.  
  
He heard low laughter coming from above him, followed by the swift punishment of the chicotte across his bare bottom for his daring snivel, an area that his guard knew would sting mercilessly as he was the reason for the dull ache emanating therein.  
  
He split his lip as his teeth shredded the thin skin, scowling at the Muggle method of retribution. _His Lord,_ he thought scathingly, _the magnificent hypocrite._  
  
Sickening laughter echoed around him and he realized they had already reached the main atrium. His knees were a bloodied mess and the rats were making his skin crawl as they scurried along the walls. A low hiss directed his attentions away from beady eyes to the slit-like ones before him.  
  
“Potter.” It was nearly a purr and it made him tremble, his shackles clinking ominously. “You believe Leopold to be a Muggle?” Harry snarled, as if he needed to be reminded that his mind was no longer the sanctuary it once was. Voldemort raised himself fluidly from his _throne_ and clicked his tongue with disappointment. “Responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands and yet you still believe a Muggle to be capable of such heartless mass slaughter?”  
  
Voldemort circled him and Harry kept his head down like the cowed slave he was. Voldemort’s hand ran over his back, his jagged nails lifting skin and gathering dried blood underneath them as he continued his speech. “His methods may not have been magical, but they most certainly did not come from such an expendable people. He did his part to exterminate those that were unclean, just as I am doing mine. I thought the chicotte was a proper tribute to such a fearless leader.” His hand dipped lower and ran over the recently broken skin of his backside.  
  
Harry’s lower lip quivered and his mind was screaming, _No, not him. Please, not him. Not again._ Refusing to give in to the panic and fear, he found his voice and brazenly, foolishly argued in his rasping gasp, “Fearless? He was a tyrant. He could not control those of his own country where he was treated like a cretin, disrespected and spit upon, so he preyed upon the weak and ill-advanced culture in the Congo. He was pathetic and so are you.”  
  
To Harry’s surprise, Voldemort’s only reaction was a slowly spreading smirk as his lecherous tone declared, “I am pleased that your spirit has not been crushed betwixt cruel fingers.” Voldemort turned his snake-like face away from him. “Come forward,” he burred seductively and Harry jerkily began to move when he noticed a tall, svelte Death Eater walking toward them from amongst the masses. Harry hadn’t even noticed their presence. He stilled his movements and watched curiously as Voldemort’s white hand moved beneath the hood of the Death Eater’s robes. He barely heard the whispered, “For you.”  
  
The Death Eater inclined his head and Voldemort’s hands ran along the man’s clothed torso to rest on his hips. He looked around the man to Harry. “I would not want to gift you something that was broken.” His attentions returned to the man in front of him, saying lowly, “I will give you time with your new toy but do not forget to whom you belong.”  
  
“Never, My Lord,” was the submissive reply. The voice sounded familiar but Harry could not place it, there had been too many voices over the years and he was in no condition for the kind of thought this type of identification required. His body was weary from his earlier punishments and he didn’t quite understand what the two _men_ before him were speaking of.  
  
“Potter!”  
  
 _Oh no_ , his eyes must have closed. Red sparks collided with his cheek and the force of it threw him onto his back. Blood dripped from his hairline where his face had slammed into the harsh stone and the gash on his cheek stung from the cold air. Voldemort stood over him imposingly, one bare grime-covered foot on his chest holding him down and the other crushing his left palm into the unforgiving concrete. A sneer was plastered over his features and his red eyes were glinting maliciously. He held a hand out to the man behind him and Harry saw him artfully produce a dagger from his sleeve.  
  
Voldemort knelt atop him and placed his vicious mouth next to Harry’s ear, promising, “I will carve this into your flesh, boy.”  
  
Unimaginable pain followed Voldemort’s words and the knife had only just met with his skin. He could see jewels encrusted in its hilt and a green glow surrounding it. The blade dragged over his skin but not once did Voldemort press hard enough to break. However, Harry watched in horror as his flesh split apart like tissue paper.  
  
Neat lines formed where Voldemort’s blade met his skin and Harry could feel it moving beneath the flesh, shifting around inside, even as he recognized the sensation of the cool tip scraping lightly over him. The agony was undeniable as Voldemort traced his pattern. Harry’s vision darkened as searing jolts of pain shot up his arm and took shelter in his skull.  
  
When he came to, his arm was throbbing and his vision was clouded. He could hear voices coming from above him and blinked rapidly as he noticed that he and his two captors were now alone. He looked down at the carving in his flesh warily, peeking out with only one eye as if that would negate what he saw. He had expected the Dark Mark to be marring his flesh but, instead, a liquid silver dragon winked at him as the low illumination played over its face. The fluid ink swirled about within its delineated confines and Harry found the sight both astoundingly beautiful and oddly calming.  
  
He fought the urge to run his fingers over the mark as Voldemort’s mask-like face intruded upon his personal space and gazed down upon him with disdain. “How does it feel to be owned, Potter?” His voice was superior and mocking.  
  
Harry growled but it died in his throat as the Death Eater stepped up to Voldemort’s side and quietly commanded him, “Stop.”  
  
Voldemort looked practically giddy as he stood and addressed the Death Eater. Harry thought he saw a flicker of longing in Voldemort’s eyes, which would not have been all that surprising, only it seemed to be a longing for approval. But it was gone as quickly as it had come and Harry couldn’t be sure of exactly what he had seen. Voldemort’s voice however was rich and confident, “Do you like your present?”  
  
Harry couldn’t see the man’s face but he was again struck by the spark of familiarity. “I would love anything you gifted me, My Lord, but this,” silver eyes, the same shade as the dragon that marked Harry's arm, glinted in his direction under the Death Eater’s hood, “is exquisite.”  
  
Voldemort’s sickly pale hand disappeared beneath his hood a second time. “I knew you would be pleased.”  
  
The Death Eater bowed slightly and said obediently, “Yes, My Lord.” _Nothing but a humble servant_ , Harry thought disgustedly.  
  
Voldemort rounded on Harry abruptly and caught his judgmental grimace. He wrenched Harry’s chin up until their noses were nearly touching and promised threateningly, “You will obey your Master, Potter, or I will kill everyone you love while you beg for a death I will not grant.” Harry drew back against the menacing glare and cowered at the pure _power_ that Voldemort gave off. He nodded his head hesitantly and Voldemort released him while his new Master stepped forward. Voldemort gestured to the man and said amusedly, watching Harry cringe, “You may go. I will call for you when I have cause.”  
  
The man nodded and ripped Harry’s head back by his hair. Harry nearly swore his discomfort but the words were stolen by the long forgotten sensation of trying to be squeezed through the head of a needle. Harry fell to the floor coughing and tried to crawl to an upright position before he was punished for showing weakness, but his equilibrium was shot and his head was dizzy as his body was no longer used to Apparation.  
  
The other man, however, didn’t seem to be the least bit interested in him or what he was doing. Harry eyed his new Master guardedly as the man took off his cloak, revealing platinum blond hair and a muscular back.  
  
The man turned to face him and Harry gasped loudly. Draco Malfoy rolled his silver eyes and scoffed, “And whom did you expect, Potter, the Pope?”

_The rules of the game.  
_

Harry wanted to scream, to argue, to fight. Draco Malfoy did not _own_ him, but as he moved further into the room Harry swallowed his arguments and followed him degradingly on his hands and knees. The instinct to obey his Master was too far ingrained to even consider a dissenting action. Malfoy spun around and glared at him disgustedly while Harry’s mind raced, wondering what the hell he had done wrong already. Malfoy’s lip curled in disdain and he barked in a sickened tone, “Get up, Potter.”  
  
This had to be a test.  
  
Harry’s eyes shifted back and forth between his two splayed hands. What did Malfoy expect of him, how was he meant to respond, should he preface it with the use of the term ‘Master’? Malfoy snarled angrily and brought a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes as if he were in pain. “Potter, could you stop thinking so much? Your constant questions are giving me a headache.”  
  
“Y-you can hear my thoughts!” Harry’s voice was raspy and sounded wrong compared to the silky way Malfoy’s flowed. He internally berated himself for speaking out of turn and cowered slightly, awaiting the punishment he knew was imminent.  
  
Malfoy nodded, seeming oddly tense to Harry, and bit out, “Yes, but I can block you out, and I intend to.” Malfoy’s eyes raked over Harry’s prostrated position and Harry could swear he could feel his gaze boring into him. Malfoy seemed frustrated and Harry didn’t have to wonder why for long. “You’re still on your hands and knees, Potter. If you enjoy reveling in filth, please, be my guest, but don’t do so on my account.”  
  
Harry stood slowly, his equilibrium and muscles unaccustomed to this position. He hadn’t stood at his full height since before he’d been captured, whenever that had been. Malfoy looked him over appraisingly and without the slightest hint of… anything else. Not even remote interest sparkled in his eyes as his gaze roved over Harry’s nude body. It was actually a welcome change.  
  
Malfoy sighed deeply as he studied Harry. “Well, I’m sorry, Potter. I didn’t know of the Dark Lord’s plan to present me with this little… _gift_ and therefore had not gotten clothes that were suited to your size and style. We can shop tomorrow for clothing in Muggle London if you like. For now you can wear some of my clothes.” Malfoy’s eyes flicked over him once again. “We’re about the same size.”  
  
Malfoy moved towards a stairwell with swift, decisive actions and Harry followed, the carpeted floor feeling odd to his bare feet and he found himself wriggling his toes more than necessary. Malfoy placed his hand on the railing and had begun to ascend the stairs when Harry murmured a trembling, despondent, “Why are you doing this… Master?” He wondered exactly what Malfoy expected in return and found himself shaking as he considered the options.  
  
Malfoy rounded on him instantly and bore down upon Harry. He hissed through gritted teeth, “Don’t you ever, _ever_ , call me that again.” Harry nodded frantically in response and Malfoy’s abrupt temper seemed to cool somewhat. “What do you mean, ‘why am I doing this,’ Potter? Why am I treating you like a human being, you mean?” Malfoy glared at him as if he were waiting for an answer but realized one was not forthcoming and continued, “I suppose it’s not in my nature to act like I own someone, to treat someone as if they’re below me, to take advantage of anyone. No matter what you may think of me, Potter, and apparently your opinion is quite low, I am _not_ a monster.”  
  
Harry was in awe. Malfoy was… his savior. “I never thought…” he trailed off, not knowing what he did or didn’t think and afraid to _believe_ anything at all.  
  
It was a moot point anyway as Malfoy seemed to be ignoring his uncertainty entirely as he continued up the stairs, throwing over his shoulder, “I’m not going to wait for you, Potter.”  
  
Harry scrambled after him and followed him to the second door on the first landing. Malfoy dictated as he led Harry into the most impressive room he had ever seen, “This is my room, Potter, and I promise you this, you will never have another occasion to be in it.”  
  
Harry looked up sharply at that. Malfoy didn’t intend to use him? Maybe he wasn’t interested in men? That thought immediately drew more questions. Was Malfoy married? Did he have kids? Harry supposed it wasn’t impossible, Malfoy’s life must have continued even while Harry’s reached its torturous standstill. He shook his head. He was getting ahead of himself, allowing himself to form hopes and even develop a sort of guarded optimism. Emotions he had thought he was incapable of until this very moment. Perhaps Malfoy simply meant to fuck him in a basement, maybe his declaration had meant nothing at all.  
  
Harry belatedly noticed that Malfoy was holding out clothes to him. He stared at them for a full minute before Malfoy cleared his throat, shook the clothes, and perked a blond brow. “I realize you’re used to displaying yourself… erm, openly but I would appreciate if you at least wore bottoms.” Harry tugged on the clothes awkwardly, not having worn any for who knew how long. They were oddly itchy and he knew it was not due to the fabric, as if a Malfoy would have clothes made of less than acceptable material. Malfoy waited until Harry was completely dressed in comfortable, gray drawstring pants and a regular white, cotton t-shirt to announce, “Now, the rules, Potter.”  
  
Harry swallowed audibly and Malfoy smirked at his discomfort as he began in a tone that promised a quiz later, “I will not be here to watch you. I spend my days where you first saw me tonight and my nights are spent elsewhere. I would appreciate if you got in the habit of wearing clothing,” Malfoy grinned, almost good-naturedly, “if only for my benefit.”  
  
“You are welcome to anything and everything within my home and the land that surrounds it or belongs to the Malfoy name. There is a Quidditch pitch in the back and a few of the most recent model brooms in the shed; you are encouraged to use them. I expect you to remember basic hygiene. Your room is across the hall from mine and it contains its own bathroom, use it. You can make your own meals and have free reign in the kitchen. If not, the house elves will happily prepare you anything you desire, simply snap your fingers.”  
  
“In the event of company, meaning Death Eaters, or should the rare occasion arise,” Harry thought he saw Malfoy shiver, “the Dark Lord himself, you are to disrobe, act the part of the cowed slave, quiver when I enter a room, not look directly in the eyes of _any_ one, crawl on your hands and knees, and anything else you became accustomed to in your incarceration. I will spell marks and bruises on your body so don’t worry about that and I will warn you beforehand so you will never be caught unawares. You simply need to act as if they aren’t fictional aches and pains, and play your part convincingly.” Malfoy’s eyes narrowed and he said threateningly, “If you step a toe out of line your punishment will be the whip.” Malfoy caught Harry’s near relief and he added, without even needing to read his mind, “No, not the chicotte, Potter.” He suppressed his own trembling over the thought of the cutting device. He had watched many would-be betrayers meet their end as the implement was brought down over and over again.  
  
“As of now, there is only one action that will bring you punishment,” Harry perked up, curiosity getting the better of him, “and that is the use of the word ‘ _Master_ ,’ I will not tolerate it on any other occasion than when evil has taken up temporary residence in this home.” Malfoy pursed his lips and seemed to be thinking before he continued, “I will stay out of your mind unless you give me cause to enter it. By the way, that is the only… _benefit_ that comes with this type of relationship.”  
  
Malfoy nodded to him and seemed to be finished as he made for the door. He was nearly at the handle when he turned on his heel and added, “Oh yes, Potter, you are welcome to go anywhere in the city provided you ask first, and you can go unaccompanied if you wish.”  
  
Harry gasped in disbelief and Malfoy huffed and rolled his eyes. “You don’t get it, do you, Potter? I own you, body and soul,” Malfoy moved closer to him and fingered the rope that hung limp over his back before helping to untangle it from around his neck.  
  
“You are mine, Potter,” Malfoy said softly as he leaned over Harry’s shoulder so he could get a look at the knot at the back of his _leash_. His hands worked slowly and Harry could feel smooth fingertips brushing over his skin while Malfoy’s hot breath prickled the hair on his neck. “I don’t need trinkets or marks to know that you, irrevocably, belong to me. No matter how much either of us may detest it.”  
  
He loosened the knot and the tie fell from around Harry’s neck. He brushed the hair from his own eyes and said almost sadly, “You’ll never escape this… and neither will I. It’s His world now.” He added as an afterthought, “If you run, they’ll find you and return you to me, but not before torturing both of us. They’re not going to kill either of us, Potter.” Malfoy turned away from him and Harry realized he seemed almost depressed over that fact. He barely heard the whispered, “Not ever.” Malfoy straightened and shook his thoughts from him as he turned to look Harry in the eye. “They’re never going to let you get away. This is the best I can offer you.”  
  
Harry was trying to retain everything Malfoy was saying but it was too much and he could feel the knowledge slipping from him even as he grasped for it, but he did know: “It’s more than I could have expected, Mas—erm, how should I refer to you, then?”  
  
Malfoy half-smirked and said quietly, “What have you always been most comfortable with?” Harry gave him a bemused look and Malfoy sighed. “Malfoy’s fine, Potter.” He paused and said, “Listen, when I come to trust you better, maybe I’ll let you go anywhere in the _world_ so that you can gain some independence because I’m not going to be able to do… this.”  
  
Harry didn’t understand and his expression must have shown it because Malfoy elaborated, “I don’t know what you went through, Potter, but I do know it must have… broken you and I’m not the person to put the pieces together again. I’m not going to take care of you. I need you to be like the Potter I remember, witty, quick-thinking, unfalteringly brave and all the other ridiculous Gryffindor qualities that came in the Potter package, or I need you to fake it. I’m not going to repair a fractured mind. I didn’t want this, I didn’t want you, and I don’t like the idea of it. I’m glad you’re with me, that you can’t be subjected to… that anymore, but I’m not going to… _save_ you.”  
  
“I didn’t expect you to,” Harry muttered quietly.  
  
Malfoy either didn’t hear him or ignored him. “Feel free to speak your mind, Potter. To fight me, to argue, whatever you want to do. I don’t care.” He gave Harry an unsure glance before he said skeptically, “I can get you a therapist or something if you want?”  
  
Harry shook his head and Malfoy groaned. “Speak, Potter. I want to know what _you_ think, what’s going to make _you_ most comfortable. Whether you like it or not, this is your home now too and you’re going to need to be all right with speaking up in it.”  
  
Harry took a deep breath and said in a croaky but firm voice, “I just, I don’t know what to say, Malfoy. You hated me and now… this is more than I ever could have asked for, more than I ever could have expected, and it’s all coming from my childhood rival. It’s a little… overwhelming. I’m trying to actually believe everything you’re saying but it sounds too good to be true. You’re not going to beat me, rape me, or even treat me like less than equal. This could all be some sick joke and I can’t let that crush me if that’s the way it turns out,” Harry finished, nearly out of breath. He hadn’t spoken that much in ages. It felt… odd and his tongue seemed heavy in his mouth.  
  
“I won’t take this from you, Potter. I want you to know, I’ve never, not even when I was a kid, aspired to _own_ anyone. I also never really hated you.” Malfoy placed a tentative hand on Harry’s shoulder which was withdrawn not even a moment later. “I’m really… sorry for everything that happened to you, Potter.”  
  
Harry nodded and turned his eyes away from Malfoy’s, seemingly, genuine gaze. Malfoy cleared his throat awkwardly. “So… I have to go, but I can get one of the house elves to show you around or you can rest in your room, whatever you prefer.”  
  
“I think I’ll rest,” Harry said, relieved that he hadn’t had to bring up his desire for sleep. He turned as he reached the door, just in time to catch Malfoy changing his shirt. “Um…” Malfoy pulled his shirt all the way off and gave Harry his full attention, “I just wanted to say, well, erm… thanks, Malfoy.”

_Eve, the first, the only.  
_

What was Malfoy playing at? Harry didn’t understand him at all. There had to be a catch. No one did something for nothing, especially not a Malfoy. What could Malfoy possibly gain by giving him his own room, by leaving him alone for hours on end, by not beating or raping him? Trust, Harry assumed. Trust he could easily betray, which would break Harry much more effectively than You Know Who ever had.  
  
Somehow he couldn’t see that as much of a bargaining chip in Malfoy’s eyes and he didn’t remember the younger Malfoy having that type of patience besides.  
  
He was still standing outside the door of his room, afraid of what he might find and refusing to _hope_ for anything. Perhaps it was full of Dementors, or Death Eaters, or maybe it just opened in on nothing. Harry decided guessing was pointless and pessimistically pushed open the door and realized that, at some point, he had closed his eyes. He opened them slowly to find the most opulent and astoundingly beautiful room he had ever seen.  
  
While the color scheme was green and silver, Harry grudgingly admitted that it didn’t detract from its beauty in the slightest. The canopy bed was the biggest he had ever seen and likely the most comfortable, outfitted with light green sheets and fluffy pillows. The light on the bedside table, made of a rich maple, was the warmest he could remember. Although he _was_ used to pale and muted illumination. His room was carpeted in an inviting silver that felt heavenly on his bare, bruised feet. There was a high ceiling that was accentuated with a stunning diamond chandelier. He noted a desk and fireplace and promised himself he’d explore them fully when his body wasn’t begging for rest.  
  
He noticed a door to the left of his bed and realized that must be the bathroom Malfoy had mentioned. Deciding a few hygienic steps might be in order, he made his way to it. His jaw dropped and his knees felt weak. He wanted to spend his entire life in this “bathroom,” was it? White and gold assaulted his vision as nearly all of the tiles were accentuated with gold trim. The bathtub was larger than his bed had been at the Dursleys' and looked far more inviting.  
  
There were two sinks next to the counter and a separate shower as well as many other things that he didn’t even pretend to recognize. There were gorgeous golden inlays in all the marble and Harry could get lost studying them for hours on end. He filled the tub slowly, letting his fingers trail through the sizzling water as it poured in to fill the stone basin.  
  
Once the tub was three-fourths full he turned off the water and sunk into the luxurious warmth. He took his time, blowing bubbles under the surface and allowing the water to soothe his aching muscles. He found himself thinking that even if this was all that he was allowed, that if Malfoy came and took all of this away, that this moment, this comfort, was worth all that would follow.  
  
Less than an hour later he was sleeping as soundly as he ever had in his life, awoken only by a niggling pressure on his bicep. Harry’s eyes shot open and his immediate thought was of the rats that lined his cell when he felt the cushioning support beneath him. The bed. The room. The promise. Malfoy. It all came flying back, which drew Harry’s attention back to the thing that was currently pushing against him. He looked over warily and saw a bright spot of silver, a blur.  
  
His eyes adjusted to the brilliant light in the previously dark room and he recognized the form of a silver snake, coiling and uncoiling on his bedspread, pushing against him with its brazen head. Harry’s hand reached out and the snake reared back, its body undulating and, to Harry’s immense surprise, growing, until it resembled a large boa rather than a garter.  
  
Harry sat and watched in awe as it slithered across his blanket, slipping off the bed and towards the door just as a knock reverberated from it. The snake gave way to a wolf and it was with a swirling silvery paw that it turned the knob. Malfoy stood framed in his doorway and the wolf turned sightless, eddying pools of obsidian upon him. The wolf transformed as it prowled his room into a liquid silver fox and again sat, suspiciously, at Harry’s side. Once Harry had recovered from his shock, he gripped his blankets and nodded to Malfoy.  
  
“Hi,” Harry said softly, feeling oddly bashful under the gaze of the man that had re-gifted him life.  
  
Malfoy seemed surprised, more that he was standing in Harry’s doorway than that Harry was awake. His eyes traveled over the room’s walls lingeringly and he seemed distracted when he asked, “How do you like it?”  
  
Harry blushed and was glad that Malfoy couldn’t see his embarrassment. This was the nicest place he had ever been and he wasn’t even _free_. He found that incredibly unfair. “It’s amazing,” was his simple reply. He could go on for days about its beauty but there was no need to compound his humiliation. Malfoy hadn’t asked for it.  
  
Malfoy gave a stilted and delayed nod, his thoughts evidently elsewhere. “I’m glad you approve.” Harry had expected sarcasm but he didn’t think Malfoy even realized what he’d said, let alone employed the energy to make it malevolent. He still seemed to be moving and speaking on autopilot.  
  
Malfoy’s eyes fell on the bed, making out the dark blur that was Harry’s sitting form next to the quicksilver fox that was eyeing him intently. Malfoy smirked. “I see you’ve met Eve?” Harry gazed at the animal unhappily, watching its body elongate into that of a lynx that arched its back defensively and hissed. “She’s rather protective of me, I’m afraid, and in the confusion I’ve forgotten to tell her about you,” Malfoy said, amusement present in his hushed voice.  
  
“Eve, is it?” Harry asked, wrinkling his nose at her. “What is she?”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes seemed to be gleaming in the darkness of Harry’s room, the same silver that Eve’s body consisted of, and the same shade that swirled in the Mark on Harry’s arm. Eve slinked off the bed, transforming as she did into a streaked tiger, different churning patterns of liquid obsidian creating stripes.  
  
Her head reached Malfoy’s waist while she rubbed her body against his legs like a large cat, which Harry realized she basically was. Malfoy’s hand fell from its crossed position over his chest to scratch behind her ears while he said quietly in answer to his question, “Yes, Eve. Short for Sureves. She’s a Stannum Metamorpheon, her gift for animal forms.”  
  
Harry perked an eyebrow and wondered if he was overstepping his bounds, but asked anyway. Malfoy had told him to be vocal. “‘Sureves,’ is that Latin or something?”  
  
Malfoy’s lips twitched and he said softly, “Or something.” He gave a pointed look to Eve and she transformed back into the fox and stole out of the room. Malfoy placed his hand on the door handle and looked up at Harry. “Goodnight, Potter,” he said simply as he closed Harry’s door.  
  
Harry lay back in his bed, clutching the sheets tight and drawing them up to his chin. Had he been wrong to ask after the name’s origin? Maybe Malfoy really didn’t want him talking much at all. He should’ve kept his mouth shut, now Malfoy would whip him to teach him his mistake. All of this would be taken away and he’d have to sleep in a cold, dark, wet dungeon again.  
  
Harry’s self-flagellation hadn’t left him all that alert, therefore he hadn’t noticed that his door had reopened until Malfoy’s voice was swimming in his head. “Were you bored today, Potter?”  
  
Harry bolted upright in surprise while Malfoy waited for him to regain his faculties, completely unfazed. Malfoy’s question seeped in. “No. But I slept most of the day,” Harry admitted.  
  
Malfoy seemed to be considering this and clucked his tongue. “I assume it will become rather banal after the initial high wears off or, at the very least, lonely. I was thinking that perhaps we could have a nightly dinner together? It is not an order, simply a musing of mine. I’m not used to company, not real company anyway, so I’m not sure I’d even speak much but I assume that just having another’s presence about is… healthy? Beneficial even?”  
  
Harry wondered who Malfoy was trying to impress, why he was trying to be “healthy.” There was no one else in the Manor, so far as Harry knew, so why did Malfoy care about what would look good in their society’s eyes? Still, Harry couldn’t deny that it would be nice to have company, even silent company, and nodded. “I think I’d like that.”  
  
Malfoy nodded as well, not looking relieved or disappointed, his features as impassive as ever. He glanced back at Harry and seemed unsure what to leave him with. His discomfort was catching and Harry found himself squirming while he awaited further conversation. “Right, well then,” Malfoy said, clearing his throat, “if there’s anything you require, don’t hesitate to ask.” Malfoy turned on his heel, hand on the doorknob.  
  
“You can control me,” Harry blurted.  
  
“Excuse me?” Malfoy asked. He didn’t seem annoyed, merely curious.  
  
“You said that mind-reading was the only _benefit_ but you can control me too,” Harry said, unconsciously mimicking the tilt of Malfoy’s head. In his experience, people liked it when you reminded them of themselves.  
  
“Oh,” Malfoy said, his facial features showing he was trying to recall the moment Harry was referring to, “I meant being in your head, in general. I can control your thoughts, which means I’d have to know them, thought leads to action so, in turn, I suppose I _control_ your actions even though I only manipulate thought.” He grimaced and focused on Harry again. “But, as I said, I will stay out of your mind provided you don’t give me cause to enter it.”  
  
Harry nodded to show he understood, which he did, partially. He subconsciously twitched up his sleeve and glanced down at the quicksilver Mark. Malfoy’s Mark. He felt _owned_. “The war,” he said, his head shooting up, “who—which side is—what’s the status?” Malfoy had implied it was over, that Voldemort had won, but Harry needed more than implication and insinuation. He needed to _know_.  
  
Malfoy seemed uncomfortable, even skittish, while his fingers searched for something that was hidden beneath his sleeve. “That is a conversation for another day,” he said finally before closing Harry’s door firmly.  
  
Harry sighed but determined that that was a conversation that was _going_ to happen. And soon.

_Feline majesty.  
_

Harry sat in his bed with his arms wrapped around his raised knees. It was still an awkward thought, _his bed_. It had been so long since anything had been _his_. He was still wary of his situation and expected some sort of trick but, despite what his past had prepared him for, his instincts said to trust Malfoy. If only because he seemed completely uninterested in Harry in any way, shape or form.  
  
Harry had startled him more than once. It was as if Malfoy had completely forgotten about his existence. He didn’t think it helped that whatever Malfoy was doing was running him ragged. They had yet to share a dinner together but Harry often heard Malfoy opening the door across the hall well after midnight. He wondered what the other man was doing but didn’t think it was his place to ask, despite Malfoy’s assurances that he was free to speak his mind.  
  
The creak of hinges was a much more pleasant sensation to be jerked awake to rather than the one that greeted Harry tonight. He held himself tighter in a protective position while Eve’s eyes watched him unseeingly. The swirling silver glinted at him from the shadows by the door.  
  
She had taken the form of a tiger again, which seemed odd to Harry as it appeared to be the form she favored when Malfoy was there. She was crouched in a pouncing position and Harry swallowed uncomfortably, his eyes darting to the clock on his bedside table.  
  
Angry red numbers blared half one in the morning. Harry squinted at them. Malfoy wasn’t back yet and he usually got home at least an hour before. He involuntarily shivered. Eve had done this often, staked out his room and watched him in the dark, but Malfoy always came to corral her.  
  
“You’re worried about Malfoy, aren’t you?” Harry whispered softly and unassumingly to her. It would certainly explain the sudden resurgence of the tiger form. “Me too,” Harry told his knees. He didn’t like not knowing where Malfoy was, or if he was even alive. He would have to go back if something went wrong and Malfoy was the best thing that had happened to him since he cared to remember.  
  
Eve arched her back, the hair that looked like liquid silver standing on end as if agitated. She had just bared her teeth at Harry when the trembling boy heard the satisfying sound of a door clicking open across the hall. Eve kept her flashing obsidian orbs on Harry as she backed away from the door just as Malfoy opened it.  
  
She rubbed happily against his legs as he entered the room, a deep purr rumbling from her chest and Malfoy chuckled weakly. “Miss me, girl?” Eve circled him, swiping her atramentous body against Malfoy’s own. Malfoy scratched behind her ears and looked up, dark circles aging his face. “Okay today?”  
  
Harry nodded and Malfoy noticed his bundled position. He gave Eve a tired glare. “What did I tell you about terrorizing Potter? Bed, Eve.”  
  
Eve shrank under his gaze to nothing but a housecat and slunk back to Malfoy’s room.  
  
“She understands you?” Harry questioned finally, he had been wondering how they communicated since he’d found out about her. It seemed as if she understood him perfectly.  
  
Malfoy shook his head slowly. “Not in the way you’re thinking, at least.” Harry cringed and Malfoy’s titter of laughter turned into a cough. “I meant that figuratively. I gave you my word to stay out of your head.” He eyed Harry sharply. “My word is all I have, Potter. I don’t give it lightly.” Malfoy muttered something that sounded like ‘not anymore.’  
  
He cleared his throat, dislodging phlegm, and continued, “She interprets and tends to be highly susceptible to my moods. She’s empathic to the person she bonds to so perhaps she understands me better than anyone.”  
  
“Sometimes, when she’s the snake,” Harry began timidly, twirling his fingers in his sheets, “I try to talk to her in Parseltongue,” he looked down uncomfortably, “is she, ah, ignoring me or…?”  
  
Malfoy gave a soft, good-natured laugh. “She’s not. She can’t understand it, though, now you’ve mentioned it, that’s probably why she’s so hostile towards you, if you’ve been hissing at her.” Malfoy slid a hand over his stomach as he continued his muted laughter. He looked so weak. “She can take on the forms of different animals but she doesn’t become them. She can’t learn anything that is inherent to a certain species as she’s not born with it. She can only imitate.”  
  
“But she can purr in her tiger form,” Harry pointed out, immediately regretting extending the conversation as Malfoy’s eyelids were already drooping.  
  
Malfoy leaned heavily against the doorframe and smirked, a ghost of his old. “Some things can be learned, Potter.” He rolled his tongue and gave Harry an unintentionally sultry purr. He quirked a blond brow. “See?”  
  
Harry felt his bottoms grow tight at the vibrating sound and nodded rapidly and embarrassedly.  
  
Malfoy yawned and stretched, completely oblivious to Harry’s current predicament. “Goodnight, Potter,” he relayed wearily, his hand on the doorknob when he turned and added, “Perhaps we can have dinner tomorrow night? I might be home for once.”  
  
Harry nodded once more, feeling idiotic that he couldn’t do more but his throat was feeling rather tight at the moment. Malfoy acknowledged Harry’s action and closed the door gently behind him.  
  
Harry threw his head back on the pillow and tried to figure out what the hell had just happened. He was no stranger to arousal but it was rare that it wasn’t forced upon him. He wasn’t sure of his own sexuality and, up to this moment, had thought it a moot point anyway. He rolled over, bringing unwanted stimulation.  
  
He groaned but didn’t have to delve deep in his memories to find one that made his arousal abate. He buried his face in his pillow and decided, the more he thought about it, that it wasn’t strange at all to think he was attracted to Malfoy. Malfoy had saved him and Harry had learned in the past years exactly how valuable sex was. He simply wanted to repay Malfoy the only way he knew how.  
  
Of course, he would keep this desire to himself as Malfoy didn’t seem the least bit interested in repayment, or the male form, or perhaps just Harry’s form? Not that it mattered.

* * *

Eve haunted Harry’s steps as he explored the Manor. He was fairly certain he’d been in every room now but he rarely felt comfortable enough to spend much time in one place. The house-elves were all very cordial and well-trained, evidenced by the way they seemed to anticipate his needs, Harry thought, as one popped up with a tea tray.  
  
He mumbled his thanks, still not entirely contented with the sound of his own voice and frightened he would speak too loudly or too softly when Malfoy returned and be punished for it. He was beginning to see these as the ridiculous notions they were but he couldn’t quite shake the idea altogether. Not yet, at least.  
  
He looked out at the Quidditch pitch. He had walked it a few times but had yet to try out any of the brooms, not because he thought Malfoy would go back on his word but because he was genuinely terrified of them. He had always been able to leave the world behind as the wind howled through his hair and the lightweight feeling spread through his limbs but what if he was too damaged for it now? Too heavy with regret and memory?  
  
He didn’t think he could take it if flying wasn’t the escape it had once been. He preferred it how it was now, the unknown. He’d rather not know than crush the dream.  
  
Eve followed him into the library as Harry wandered along the shelves. There was a book not quite shoved in and Harry saw parchment stuck in it as if it had been read and studied recently. He brought it down carefully and curled up in an oversized armchair, allowing the book to fall open on his lap at the first marked page.  
  
Harry hadn’t understood the markings on the cover but he was fairly certain it was not the sort of book one read in their leisure time. The pictures made him shudder as he stared at the hollow faces looking back at him.  
  
Robed figures with drawn features and sucking mouths stirred within the border of their page in airy movements. Almost like ethereal Dementors. The inscription underneath identified them as:

 

_Susurrers._

_Also commonly referred to as: Wind Talkers and Whisperers in Kenya—where they are most commonly found—as well as, in the Muggle world, susurrus._

_They are soulless figures whose voices work as powerful hallucinogens. The Susurrers main source of nourishment is the diseased brain. These demonic creatures drive victims to insanity with whispers and murmurs in order to devour the sweeter tastes of a broken mind. They tend to attack in pairs and seem prominent among the Muggle community who are more susceptible to madness as they cannot see Susurrers._

  
  
Harry couldn’t read anymore but he doubted Malfoy had picked the book up on a whim. These creatures were obviously making some sort of play in You Know Who’s handbook. Harry could only hope they weren’t in England.

 

* * *

“All right, Potter?” Malfoy asked, shaking his shoulder lightly.  
  
Harry jerked awake and immediately regretted the action as his stiff neck took offense.  
  
Malfoy looked at the chair with a thoughtful frown. “Yeah, these aren’t the best to sleep in.”  
  
Harry looked around and saw Eve staking out the door in panther form. She had most likely gotten Malfoy to wake him. Harry frowned, of course Malfoy wouldn’t think of him on his own. “She seems to prefer feline forms, doesn’t she?” he queried, distracting himself from his thoughts.  
  
“Mmm?” Malfoy murmured distractedly before turning around to look at Eve. “No, I do,” he said simply, in a tone that said the topic was closed.  
  
Harry noticed the book was on the table in front of him, closed finitely, and his cheeks flamed. “I’m s-sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”  
  
Malfoy wasn’t looking at him and was drawn back into the conversation with a confused expression. He followed Harry’s gaze to the book and waved an unconcerned hand. “Oh, that. Don’t worry about it, Potter. You can read whatever you like. Though, I’m sure it doesn’t make for good bedtime reading?”  
  
Harry remembered more than one dream where Susurrers were present and trembled slightly. “No, it doesn’t at that.” He observed his surroundings and saw that Malfoy had lit the fireplace due to the light that had crept out of the room to be replaced by an evening glow.  
  
Malfoy held out a hand warmly. “Dinner?”  
  
Harry’s mind was still slightly fuzzy from sleep and his lips smacked together as if he were enjoying something sweet. “Sounds good,” he managed, his fingertips tingling where they touched Malfoy's.  
  
Malfoy was true to his word and didn’t speak much, or rather, not at all. Three books were scattered around his plate, one written in an untidy scrawl and the other two in languages Harry couldn’t even identify.  
  
Malfoy ate gradually and Harry slowed his pace to match his. He watched him carefully, not having much else to do, as Malfoy’s eyes snapped from book to book and flew across pages, Eve sleeping soundly in his lap as a lion cub.  
  
Harry noticed a look of desperation in the swirling grey eyes and he brought his own down to look at his Mark. It was elegant and stunning. Plumes of smoke came from the dragon’s nostrils as it raised itself up on its hind legs and roared for all the world to hear its agony. What an odd symbol for Malfoy to have, Harry thought. It had its own quiet desperation to it, a kind of naked pain. Harry would have expected a fierce battle stance but never a vulnerable beast.  
  
He looked back at Malfoy and, by the end of the meal, had identified that Malfoy was diligent, ambitious, meticulous, and unrelenting. Nothing seemed to curb his enthusiasm for the task before him. Harry could see setbacks creasing his brow but, as soon as they came, renewed determination would make his grey eyes gleam.  
  
Harry finally left the table with a hesitant, “Goodnight,” which was returned, and slept surprisingly well.  
  
He wasn’t sure what he was dreaming, only that it was a good dream, when he was rudely ripped away from it by hoarse screaming. Harry jolted awake, expecting a dirty floor, dampness, and rats. His fingers flexed against the coverlet and he distinctly heard Draco Malfoy’s strained screech of, “ _Snape!_ ”

_Love and its perversities.  
_

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as he came down the stairs for breakfast and found Malfoy sitting at the dining room table. Scrolls were covering nearly every inch of the polished surface around him and a plate of eggs was going mostly unnoticed in front of him.  
  
Harry never saw Malfoy in the mornings and was embarrassed that he was looking less than presentable with his hair flat on one side from where he’d slept on it and wearing nothing but wrinkled pajama bottoms. He cleared his throat to alert Malfoy to his presence and said awkwardly, “Morning.”  
  
Malfoy looked up at him, his quill pausing over a half-written letter and gave Harry a curt nod. “Good morning, Potter. Sleep well?”  
  
Harry was a little annoyed that he didn’t seem to warrant full sentences or even Malfoy’s full attention as his eyes immediately returned to the task at hand. Harry frowned and wondered why he cared. In his experience it was much better to be ignored than to be the focus of anyone’s interest. Harry bristled a bit at his own thoughts and relayed softly, “Yes. Fine, thank you.” He left out having been awakened by a shrill scream of his former Potions professor’s surname.  
  
He had slept well for the most part but had found his thoughts after he’d awoken occupied by musings on Snape’s fate. He had no idea what had happened to the man and hadn’t seen him since he’d murdered Dumbledore. Of course, Malfoy’s dream, Harry assumed that’s what it was anyway, led Harry to believe that the man was not well off.  
  
Harry found it hard to care much about the murderous bastard but, he had to admit, he was curious. If only because it opened the floodgates to what had happened to the others during Harry’s incarceration. Where were Ron and Hermione now, Hagrid, Lupin, Neville, Luna, Seamus, Ginny… he didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.  
  
They sat in silence while Harry picked at his breakfast, his mind laden with dark thoughts. He looked up at Malfoy and squinted at the parchment he was reading diligently. It was not in English but Harry thought he recognized the symbols, where from he couldn’t say.  
  
He opened his mouth to ask what kind of language it was when an owl swooped overhead and dropped a scroll in front of Malfoy. Harry stabbed his fork into his eggs, figuring it was simply more correspondence from whomever had sent the parchment that littered the area around Malfoy, when he caught sight of Malfoy’s face.  
  
He looked absolutely terrified as he eyed the note. His jaw was clenched, his eyes were wide, and he had leaned back in his chair almost imperceptibly as if to escape it. He seemed to remember Harry in that instant and his grey eyes snapped up and narrowed as they saw Harry watching him. Apparently Malfoy found it intrusive that Harry had seen his moment of fear.  
  
He tapped his wand against the black seal that looked like tar from where Harry was sitting. The scroll unraveled and green smoke rose from its center to form a deathly Dark Mark. Malfoy swallowed and read the letter quickly, Harry noticing the closer he got to the bottom the more ashen his face seemed to become.  
  
Malfoy rolled up the letter quickly and cleared his throat shakily. His voice, however, was as calm and strong as always. “I must go.”  
  
“Where?” Harry couldn’t stop himself from asking.  
  
Malfoy’s lip twitched and he said quietly, “The Dark Lord has requested my company. I will be back late.”  
  
Malfoy grabbed his cloak from the back of his chair and Harry watched him with fearful, uncertain eyes. He did not want Malfoy to have to go but, of course, there was nothing that could be done for it. Nothing that _he_ could do. Malfoy offered him an encouraging half-smile, raised his wand, and Disapparated, leaving Harry with a roiling stomach and no appetite.

* * *

Draco Apparated just outside of the former Ministry of Magic and stared up at the imposing building. A shiver danced up his spine as he drank in the boarded up windows, cobwebs, and completely vacant appearance. He steeled himself, knowing he could not keep that monster waiting, and entered the main atrium.  
  
All the fireplaces burned low and old copies of the _Daily Prophet_ crinkled as the flames reduced them to ashes. The howling wind had blown both the ash and renegade snippets of the paper over the once pristine marble floor. The newspaper crunched under Draco’s feet and he pulled his cloak tighter around himself as the chill gust in through Dumbledore’s blast mark, which opened out onto the street on Draco’s right.  
  
At the other end of the foyer Draco could see a throne had been erected and that his Lord was advising a few select Death Eaters from it. He slowed his pace, wanting to prolong his moment of freedom but the skeletal white mask turned in his direction almost instantly.  
  
His hood was up around his face so Draco did not have to hide his revulsion.  
  
“Draco,” Voldemort breathed upon seeing his svelte Death Eater. “Leave us,” he barked to his inner circle, his lip raising in a sneer as he watched them scurry out of his sight. He elegantly slid down off his throne, his ethereal robes billowing around him as he approached the man before him.  
  
Draco bowed low and Voldemort quickly righted him with a hand on his chin. “You know I do not desire _that_ submission from you,” his silky voice declared. He circled Draco, finally lowering his hood and claiming his lips in a possessive kiss. His red eyes were apologetic as Draco’s own opened. “I tried to give you more time but I could not wait.” Voldemort’s tone was schooled to be indifferent. “Are you enjoying your present?”  
  
Draco repressed a shudder and instead smirked, saying sultrily, “I have missed _you_ , My Lord.”  
  
The red eyes gleamed and Voldemort’s thin lips twitched, his desire for Draco growing with every moment they were not touching. “Then let us not waste any more time,” he said, his voice strained as he awaited Draco’s acquiescence.  
  
Draco nodded simply and Voldemort led him to their chambers – which had been converted from the Minister’s old office – trying to keep his pace from showing his eagerness. Draco fought the urge to avert his gaze from the bed, finding it a safer place than the eyes of his Lord, which were staring at him hungrily.  
  
“This bed has not been but a place of rest for weeks.” Voldemort took a step toward him and closed his eyes, a gaunt hand finding Draco’s cheek. “I have missed you.”  
  
Draco swallowed and allowed the hand to skim down his neck to his chest where his robe crossed itself. Voldemort’s hand continued to slide down, parting the fabric until it came to rest at his navel where the clasp was positioned.  
  
His hand fluidly plucked it and he drew the material aside reverently, gazing desirously at Draco’s perfect nude body, marred by nothing but the scars the man before him had branded upon him. Voldemort’s hand slid into Draco’s hair and pulled him towards his mouth by the back of his neck.  
  
Draco closed his eyes obediently and slim lips met his, a voyaging tongue swiping over the lines of his mouth until its equal came out to meet it. Voldemort pressed him closer and Draco let out the prerequisite moan before his naked body was being pulled flush against his Lord’s robed one.  
  
Voldemort withdrew but did not allow Draco even a hair’s breadth of space between them. Green eyes flashed before him and Draco found himself looking at a younger, but no less terrifying, version of his Lord.  
  
Draco knew this was not for him, only that the Dark Lord liked to have his hair pulled. Draco tangled his hands in amongst the tresses and Voldemort moaned for him. He yanked back, hard, satisfying some of his own desires with the rough action.  
  
Voldemort growled and pushed Draco back onto the mattress, a flick of his wand tying his limbs to the bed posts. His tongue darted out across his full lips as he drank in the pale muscles being stretched taut. He ran his long fingers over Draco’s chest and abdomen, down to Draco’s limp cock.  
  
Voldemort eyed him desirously and straddled Draco’s middle as he pulled off his own robes and let them pool on the floor over the edge of the bed.  
  
Draco turned his head away as Voldemort’s youthful body was exposed, suddenly sharp nails digging into his chest, and thought _Adrigo Adflictationis_ strenuously and repetitively until his cock was hard and leaking precome against his stomach.  
  
Voldemort looked close to salivation as Draco became aroused. He leaned down against the man’s pearled, rough chest and his hands fumbled in the drawer for their toys. He withdrew and sat up triumphantly.  
  
Draco groaned as he always did at the first slice of the blade, his cock twitching as Voldemort dragged it over his stomach in the shape of a _V_. Starting at one side of his rib cage, down, down, down, the point ending just below his navel, up, up, up, to the opposite side.  
  
The blood excited him as Draco thrashed against his bonds. Voldemort placed a hand on his chest as he worked the blade over the inside of Draco’s thigh, his green eyes glinting as he relished the fact that Draco was _his_ canvas, and his alone.  
  
Draco was panting when Voldemort finally finished with him, the letters of his name etched into Draco’s beautiful skin. A _V_ on his abdomen, an _O_ around his right nipple and on his bicep, an _L_ down his sternum, its tail finishing below his left nipple, a _D_ around said nipple, an _E_ on the front of his thigh, an _M_ on his neck, an _R_ on the inside of his thigh and a _T_ on the bottom of his foot.  
  
Voldemort turned the moaning boy over carefully, Draco already having come twice at experiencing Voldemort’s masterpiece. He smiled at his lover before positioning him on his stomach and striking him with the chicotte until his back was a bloody mess and his skin was raw.  
  
Draco rubbed against the mattress as he tried both to bring himself off and escape the sensation. Voldemort stopped after six blows and placed a staying hand on his smooth arse cheek. “Ah, ah, ah. Not yet, my love. I want to come with you.”  
  
He stroked himself with a confident hand while the other lifted Draco around the middle and helped the weak boy onto all fours. He placed the blunt head of his cock against Draco’s entrance, hoping he hadn’t been too hard on the boy in his excitement at seeing him again.  
  
He thrust in and Draco arched his back painfully as Voldemort pounded him, one long-fingered hand wrapping around Draco’s own cock and stroking him gently. With a rough squeeze Draco came a third time and Voldemort filled him with his demon seed.  
  
The man collapsed on top of his sensitive back, full of open cuts, and Draco bit down a scream. Voldemort rolled off him leisurely and traced a finger around and over his marks torturously. He yawned and pulled Draco to him. He trailed his blood-stained fingers over Draco’s cheek before pressing a light kiss there.  
  
He ran his hand through Draco’s silky hair and said softly, “I love you, my Draco.” He sighed and sat up, reaching for his robes. “Though I suppose you are eager to get back to your new toy and I will not keep you.”  
  
Draco swallowed and placed his hand tenderly on the man’s muscled thigh, knowing this was important. “I only wish to please you, My Lord. If you desire me to stay, then I will gladly stay.”  
  
Voldemort smiled broadly at him, a touch of hunger in it, but shook his head. “I have unsavory dealings that must be attended to.” He kissed Draco ardently and said, licking his lips, his eyes gleaming, “I _will_ see you in a few days time, my love.”  
  
Draco bowed his head subserviently and whispered, “But of course, My Lord.”  
  
Voldemort eyed his handiwork approvingly and, after a lingering glance full of longing and desire, he clothed himself, transformed, and left the room.  
  
Draco’s entire body was screaming with aches, agony, and pain. He fought the urge to curl up in the fetal position, bloody, shivering, and crying. He willed himself to move and slunk off the bed, Summoning his robes to him. He placed them tenderly over his fresh wounds and exhaustedly Apparated back to the Manor, passing out before he even reached his destination.

* * *

Harry was staring longingly out at the grounds, wishing he had the courage to test out the pitch, when a loud crack interrupted his musings. He whipped around and saw a black and pale lump lying in the foyer.  
  
Harry walked over carefully and, upon closer inspection, realized it was a very bloody, very injured Draco Malfoy. Harry gasped and knelt down next to him, his hands clenching helplessly at his sides as he whimpered, “Oh my god. Malfoy.”

_Lost to the meaning.  
_

Harry knelt next to Malfoy, his hands shaking as they ghosted over his wounds. He parted Malfoy’s robes and nearly retched at the sight of letters carved into his skin. He had seen much worse in his incarceration, _been through_ much worse, but for some reason he had thought the days of blood and inhumanity were over.  
  
Harry was shocked to discover that apparently he already did trust Malfoy to protect him and keep him safe, evidenced by the fact that he expected to be _sheltered_ from things like this.  
  
He swallowed convulsively, what could he do for Malfoy? The bleeding had to be stopped, Harry knew that much, but he had only ever used magic to heal and that damned mark on Harry’s arm ruled that out. His breathing was too fast and Harry knew he was close to panic but he had no idea where to begin.  
  
A sharp, territorial hiss startled Harry out of his desperate thoughts and he looked up to find Eve staring him down, her eyes narrowed on his hands in the form of a lion. Harry removed them from Malfoy’s chest as if he’d touched fire, noting the claws that were digging into the carpet and the arched back that indicated a protective position.  
  
“I wasn’t going to hurt him,” Harry said thickly.  
  
Eve ignored him, whether because she didn’t understand or because she didn’t care, Harry wasn’t sure. Her attention focused solely on Malfoy and Harry felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes. Malfoy was dying right in front of him and Harry couldn’t do anything, he couldn’t think, he didn’t even know where to begin. This was why he was captured, this was why he was an unfit hero, this was why he’d never save so much as a plant.  
  
He brought his knees up to his chest and curled his arms around them, rocking back and forth. He was worthless and it would be his fault completely that Malfoy died.  
  
The silver of Eve’s body gleamed and morphed into that of a Demiguise. Harry watched in awe as she used the ape-like being’s hands to slip under Malfoy’s back. She lifted his still body, Malfoy’s chest just barely rising and falling, and carried him up the stairs.  
  
Harry scrambled to his feet, his mouth agape as he rushed after them. He entered Malfoy’s room where Eve had taken him and spotted the bloodied man instantly. Harry moved over to him carefully, noting that Eve was nowhere in sight, and sat down on the bed where Malfoy now lay.  
  
He picked up Malfoy’s hand in his own and noticed worriedly that he was now wheezing. Harry bit his lip just as Eve ambled in from the bathroom in the creature’s odd gait. She dropped a towel full of potions on the bed and picked one up, the Demiguise’s fat fingers unable to remove the stopper.  
  
Harry snatched it away from her and her eyes once again got that possessive gleam to them. “You’ve done enough,” Harry growled. “I’ll take care of him, you just show me what to do.”  
  
Harry unstoppered the potion and helped Malfoy sit up, rubbing his throat to help him swallow, careful to keep his fingers away from the agitated _M_ on Malfoy’s neck.  
  
Malfoy coughed and Eve rolled another bottle in his direction, now nothing more than a mouse. Harry frowned, he had been hoping to study the Demiguise later. She clambered up onto Malfoy’s chest and circled one of the wounds.  
  
Harry’s frown deepened until he opened the next vial and saw that it was a lotion of some sort. He poured a bit onto the wound Eve had indicated and she shoved her nose into Harry’s hand to get him to rub it in.  
  
Harry did as he was ordered, his fingers almost itching to touch Malfoy’s skin, to rid him of that word. He had a poor view of the injuries decorating Malfoy's left side and found the angle most effective when he was straddling Malfoy's middle, Eve, all the while, eyeing him suspiciously.  
  
Malfoy’s skin was smooth and warm under Harry’s fingers as he circled over the knife’s slices. The smell of the creamy substance was sickly sweet but it overrode the scent of blood and sweat and Harry could better appreciate its pungent aroma thanks to that.  
  
He worked diligently on Malfoy’s wounds, his hands trying to massage away any trace of his pain. Harry swallowed nervously as he finished with Malfoy’s torso, neck, and bicep. He tried to preserve Malfoy’s modesty as he finished parting the robe, but he would have to look _there_ if he wanted to help him.  
  
Harry placed steadying hands on Malfoy’s hips and – with a deep breath – looked down. Malfoy’s thighs and cock were messy with blood and dried come and Harry couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy was _large_ , not monster big, but nothing to scoff at either.  
  
He flushed and looked away from Malfoy’s cock, feeling grossly perverted and focused on the arch of the man’s foot instead, smoothing lotion over the _T_ carved into him.  
  
He moved back up to the _E_ on his thigh, his thoughts straying as he rubbed his hands into the velvety flesh. If he inched his hand up just a bit more he would be touching _it_ , have his hand on _it_. Malfoy wasn’t unattractive certainly and he had done so much for Harry and, more than that, Harry wanted _it_ , in his hand, in his mouth, up his…  
  
Without realizing it, his hand had begun to creep higher up Malfoy’s leg.  
  
Malfoy’s head shifted slightly and he groaned. The sound effectively startled Harry enough that his hand flew away from Malfoy’s crotch. What the hell had he been thinking?  
  
He scowled to himself and poured the last of the lotion on the inside of Malfoy’s thigh, the letter he’d been dreading, and massaged it in, unable to keep from thinking that if he just edged his already lubricated finger up a bit he could easily slide it inside Malfoy’s body.  
  
He shook his head, hating himself. Harry knew what Voldemort was capable of and there was no way Malfoy had survived the meeting without that monster raping him. And now, Harry was thinking of doing the same thing.  
  
He closed Malfoy’s robes over him as soon as he was done, telling himself he did _not_ take one last lingering glance at his cock before he covered him up.  
  
Why did he feel the need to sexualize his savior? Malfoy was obviously a good man who was not interested in him, why couldn’t Harry leave it at that, why did he have to manifest something _more_?  
  
Eve was watching him carefully, a small Ashwinder now. Harry sighed and wondered if she’d decide to trust him now that he had helped Malfoy. She didn’t indicate any more of the potions or bottles and Harry was glad of it as he was feeling inexplicably tired.  
  
He looked down at Malfoy’s pale features and felt oddly safe.  
  
He yawned and lay down next to Malfoy on the large bed, finding himself coiling towards him, like a moth to a flame. Harry picked up Malfoy’s lax hand and laced their fingers together before drifting off into a sound sleep.  
  
Harry awoke to the sound of voices and an empty bed. He stretched and noted disinterestedly that not even Eve was keeping him company. He sat up and threw the covers off him, his chest feeling tight as he remembered he hadn’t had any blankets over him when he had fallen asleep. Malfoy had done it to keep him warm.  
  
Harry’s face felt hot, maybe Malfoy did care.  
  
He could hear his voice coming from the room next to him – Harry remembered from his wanderings that it was a study of some sort – but there was a deep timbre joining it that Harry knew he recognized from somewhere.  
  
He slipped out of the bed and padded across the floor, hoping his footsteps weren’t as loud as they sounded to his own ears. He snuck to the room next door, light spilling out onto the landing from under the doorframe. The corridor was dark and there were clearly no other lights on in the mansion.  
  
Harry pressed his ear to the door and, with as much stealth as he was able, he slowly cracked it open. The other man was speaking and Harry didn’t have to strain as hard to hear him say admonishingly, “You’ve been drinking.”  
  
“So,” Malfoy countered petulantly.  
  
Malfoy had left Harry alone in bed to drink?  
  
Harry, heart hammering, pushed the door open further so he could see into the room and clapped a hand over his mouth to contain his gasp of surprise. Severus Snape was standing tall and proud in front of a rather disheveled Draco Malfoy.  
  
He watched the Potions master’s yellow-stained fingers reach out to steady a slightly swaying Malfoy as he said softly, “So, you know how you get when you’re drunk.”  
  
Malfoy pushed Snape’s hands off his biceps and shoved him hard into the wall behind him with more force than a drunken man should have been able. He growled and shoved a hand in between them, leaving little confusion as to what he was doing. “Don’t act like you don’t like it,” he said mockingly.  
  
Harry watched Snape’s Adam’s apple bob as the man tried to pry the belligerent Malfoy off of him. “And don’t act like you do,” Snape said, with more compassion than Harry ever would have thought him capable of. “You know I am not what you want,” he whispered, a slight sadness coloring his words.  
  
Malfoy removed his hand and collapsed onto Snape’s chest, his words muffled but still discernible. “I’m sorry. I know you’re not – but I forget, you—”  
  
Snape’s arms came up to frame Malfoy’s waifish body. “I know,” he cooed. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Draco.”  
  
Malfoy looked up at him and Snape curled his forefinger under Malfoy’s chin to lift his head higher. He schooled his features into a mask of seriousness and said, “I will not be able to resist forever.”  
  
Malfoy nodded and backed away from him, looking chastised. Snape smoothed his hands over his robes and gave Malfoy a curt nod, his lips pursed and his tone terse. “Goodnight, Draco.”  
  
Malfoy swallowed as Snape took a pinch of Floo powder and threw it into the flames. The older man gave one last look over his shoulder before he stepped into the grate and said clearly, “Spinner’s End.”  
  
The flames died down and became their normal orange and yellow but Malfoy still continued to stare at them. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was holding himself tightly as if he were cold, in spite of the fire. His grey eyes were unfocused and glassy, probably lost in his own thoughts. Harry felt as if he were intruding on a private moment and closed the door carefully.  
  
He tiptoed back to Malfoy’s room and lay down on the bed, hoping sleep would come, but he found himself confused and distracted by the scene he had just witnessed. Harry was haunted by the question: what the hell did it mean?

  
_Master in name alone.  
_

Harry awoke to an unfamiliar sound echoing through the manor. He squinted, aggravating a headache, and looked around for Malfoy, realizing belatedly that he was in his own bed. He had taken to sneaking into Malfoy’s at night but almost always ended up in his own by morning. He got the feeling that Malfoy didn’t appreciate his presence but he had never asked him to leave, and Harry intended to continue until he did.  
  
At least, this way, Malfoy couldn’t forget about him.  
  
He swung his feet over the side of his bed, rubbing his forehead and trying to figure out what that noise was. He glanced at the clock, half eight in the morning, and considered asking one of the house-elves for a Hangover Potion.  
  
He chickened out halfway down the stairs, not wanting to be a nuisance, and drew closer to the sound. He jumped back when he reached the bottom step as, at that particular moment, Eve tore across the floor battling a ball of yarn as she went, nothing more than a kitten, her front paws going haywire after it.  
  
He turned to his right, where the sound was coming from, and saw Malfoy sitting on his arse in the middle of the floor, holding his stomach with his face scrunched up as if he were in pain. But that sound wasn’t a scream, it was… _laughter_.  
  
Harry felt sick that he hadn’t recognized it but it was overshadowed by a smile as he watched Malfoy and Eve playing in the foyer. The sun was coming in strong through the bay windows and painting Malfoy in light as he laughed and held the ball of yarn out of Eve’s reach while she batted at it with a clawed paw.  
  
Her eyes narrowed to slits and she circled Malfoy while he eyed her suspiciously. He lost her as she disappeared behind him, got a running start, and jumped up onto his shoulder. Malfoy laughed harder and held the ball out in front of him in his fist.  
  
Eve shakily began to walk the length of his arm from his shoulder to get to it and he unfairly scooped her up with his other hand under her belly. She hissed at him but he only rolled the ball along the floor and watched her chase after it in her spastic kitty way.  
  
Malfoy wiped tears from his eyes as Eve jumped over the ball and hissed at it to stop. She was nearly bowled over by its momentum, it being as big as she was, and dug her claws into it. Even Harry was stifling a laugh as the yarn got stuck to her nails. She began unraveling it as she tried to shake her paws loose.  
  
She rolled over and batted at it, the yarn now wrapped around her at least a half dozen times. She mrowed unhappily, rolled over again, and caught sight of Malfoy laughing. She stood up and ran toward him, the yarn trailing after her awkwardly and occasionally pushing her off course. She lunged at him and hit him square in the chest.  
  
Harry heard Malfoy’s, “ _oof_ ,” as he was pushed onto his back, still laughing. Eve batted his chest and he smiled at her. “Okay, girl, okay.” He gently helped to untangle her, muttering, “You did do this to yourself though.”  
  
She hissed at him half-heartedly while she curled up on his chest contentedly. Eve yawned, stretched, and dug her claws in while Malfoy finished unraveling her. He lifted her up and admonished, “Nuh uh, I’m not a scratching post.” He petted her behind her ears and looked up, spotting Harry, who was hanging around nervously by the stairs.  
  
“Hello, Potter,” he said neutrally.  
  
Harry shuffled his feet and drew closer to the foyer. He dropped into the chair farthest away from Eve and Malfoy and mumbled, “Hi.” He inclined his head toward Eve and said, “Never thought I’d see her do something so… innocent.”  
  
Eve bared her teeth in his direction and Malfoy nodded with a small smile. “She does it to amuse me.” Malfoy sighed. “I’ve always liked cats.” He raised an eyebrow and sounded curious. “You?”  
  
Harry grimaced slightly and bit his lip. “I’m more of a dog person, I think.” He was still a bit worried that a dissenting opinion would earn him a date with the whip but, more than that, he was afraid of disappointing Malfoy.  
  
But Malfoy only smiled, almost secretively, and said, “Understandable.”  
  
Harry stared at him in awe. Did Malfoy know about Sirius? But how could he have possibly known, only Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, Snape… _Snape_.  
  
Had Snape told him in order to try to gain his favor? But Snape didn’t seem to want it, because Malfoy wanted someone else, someone who apparently didn’t want him back. Harry was assuming this because, he observed, while Malfoy didn’t drink often, he drank far more than he should on those occasions. This spoke of some sort of problem, Harry just wasn’t sure what it was. But if his assumption was correct and Malfoy’s love was unrequited then Harry couldn’t help but think that the man or woman Malfoy cared for was an idiot.  
  
He was startled out of his thoughts by a rumble tearing through the entire manor, as if an earthquake had hit. “Oh shit.” Malfoy was on his feet in less than a second, Eve transforming at his side into a tiger. “No, Eve,” Malfoy said harshly, “upstairs now.”  
  
Eve’s gaze was defiant and it looked as if the two were having a silent battle until Eve finally shrunk under his glare back to the housecat and climbed slowly up the stairs. “Stay out of sight,” Malfoy growled after her. He looked around wildly and his frantic gaze landed on Harry. “Disrobe,” he barked.  
  
Harry jumped up with a start and began undoing the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, Malfoy finally sounding like the Master he was meant to be. “Oh fuck it, Potter,” Malfoy snarled as he spelled off his clothes, another wave of his wand and his entire body was blooming with scars, bruises, and cuts that looked extremely painful but didn’t hurt in the least.  
  
Harry swallowed as he finally understood what was happening. Malfoy conjured something into his hand, a collar, and stepped up to Harry quickly, wrapping it around his neck. “Remember, ‘ _Master_ ,’” Malfoy murmured against his cheek as he buckled the collar.  
  
Harry nodded and Malfoy threw an arm around his shoulders. Harry was confused for a split second before he felt the squeeze of Apparition. He opened his eyes on completely unfamiliar territory and blinked curiously. He knew very well what it was, just because it wasn’t the exact same place he had spent his years of confinement didn’t mean he didn’t recognize the intent. It was a dungeon.  
  
Harry whimpered as Malfoy backed him into a wall and tapped the limp chains at his sides. They sprang to life and wrapped around Harry’s ankles, spreading his legs, and wrists, pinning them above his head. Harry could feel tears building in his eyes and was surprised when Malfoy roughly wiped them away with a calloused thumb.  
  
“I’m sorry, Potter.” And he did sound it. He placed his wand tip over the center of the collar, where a metallic dragon rested, and murmured a soft incantation. Harry felt no different but, when Malfoy looked up, his eyes were full of pity. He tugged and tested the chains, constantly talking as if to distract himself from what he was doing. “Don’t look into his eyes, and act as if you’re afraid of me. You’ll have to crawl and it’ll have to seem as if it truly hurts you.”  
  
He placed his hand over the collar and said sorrowfully, “And this _will_ hurt you. I have to keep you down here for now but this collar forces you to follow and if you don’t… it casts the Cruciatus. I’m so sorry, Potter.” He placed his hand against Harry’s cheek to show he still had his humanity and whispered, “It won’t be long. Be strong, Potter.”  
  
Malfoy backed away from him and Harry could already feel the pull to follow. Malfoy gave him one last mournful look and disappeared with a _crack_. The pain started in instantly and Harry writhed against his chains. He wanted to be strong but he needed Malfoy back. He didn’t want to beg, scream, or plead, but he was doing all three within the first minute.  
  
After three, he had dislocated both shoulders as he was pulled uncontrollably against his chains while his body twisted and contorted. The pain burned through him like hot pokers being stabbed repetitively into his skin. He wept at the brutality of it and tried to remember that Malfoy would not leave him this way.  
  
He thought back to that morning, Malfoy playing with the kitten – _that_ man would never harm him, not if he could help it. This was beyond Malfoy’s control but he would get them out of this, Harry knew he would.  
  
The _crack_ of Apparition sounded again in the small chamber, the pain subsiding at once, and Harry nearly wept in _relief_ , at least until he saw who was holding Malfoy by the back of his neck. His eyes narrowed as that _thing_ slipped its other hand inside Malfoy’s robes.  
  
Malfoy’s head fell back against You Know Who’s shoulder as his hand slid further down. Surely Malfoy couldn’t find this… enjoyable?  
  
“Show me your toy,” Voldemort hissed into his ear and Malfoy nodded, seeming reluctant to leave his side. Harry hoped Malfoy was just that good an actor.  
  
Malfoy laughed derisively as he stepped forward, contempt the only thing in his eyes as he looked upon Harry. It was nothing like his free, happy laugh that morning. It was bone-chilling and terrifying and, for the first time in a long time, Harry was well and truly scared.  
  
There would be no need for acting on his part.  
  
Malfoy leaned forward and fingered the collar erotically. He clucked his tongue. “Now, Pet, why didn’t you tell me I left the collar on?” His hand shifted around to Harry’s back and Harry thought he would take the collar off but, instead, it trailed further down to his arse. Harry clenched in fear and Malfoy chuckled. “I had other things on my mind though, didn’t I, Pet?”  
  
Harry couldn’t look at Malfoy when he was acting like this and found his eyes focusing on the spark of jealousy in You Know Who’s. He noticed Harry’s stare and his lip raised in disgust. He pulled Malfoy back against him and ground into him, obviously aroused. “I think you should have your little _pet_ here watch a worthy man satisfy you.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure he would like nothing better,” Malfoy said with a slight smirk, which, Harry realized, he hadn’t seen on that pointy face in ages now. “Isn’t that right, Pet?” Malfoy asked as he dragged his fingernail down Harry’s cheek, not unpleasantly.  
  
Harry hadn’t realized he was meant to answer until Malfoy pulled his hand back and slapped him hard across the face. Harry could taste blood in his mouth and dropped his eyes from Malfoy’s as he murmured submissively, “Yes, Master.”  
  
Harry caught a slight shiver from Malfoy as the word slipped from his lips and, for the first time since Malfoy reappeared, he felt hope rise in his chest that this really was just an act. Luckily, for both of them, Voldemort had missed it. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Malfoy while Malfoy released the chains.  
  
Harry felt his arms numb and the pain became but a distant memory; he realized Malfoy had wordlessly desensitized him to it. He barely restrained himself from rubbing his hands over the sore joints with his still dislocated shoulders and sank to his hands and knees quickly, fearing he might have accidentally drawn attention to Malfoy’s bold actions, but it seemed You Know Who only had eyes for Malfoy.  
  
Malfoy placed a hand on Harry’s back and Apparated them upstairs. Voldemort immediately took Malfoy’s wand, ignited the tip, and dragged it down the front of Malfoy’s robes so that the material and the clothes underneath burned and separated. He pushed the fabric off Malfoy’s pale, toned, godlike body and threw his wand aside.  
  
Harry watched as You Know Who transformed, shaggy dark hair sprouting from his head, his eyes becoming an intense green, his body filling out. Harry shivered; he had forgotten how much he and Tom Riddle resembled one another. It almost looked like him standing naked in front of a similarly unclothed Malfoy.  
  
Both Malfoy and You Know Who turned around to face him and Malfoy opened his mouth and commanded coldly, “Watch,” and Harry had no choice but to.  
  
Malfoy twisted his hand in Voldemort’s hair and tugged. Voldemort hissed and drew their arousals together as he forced Malfoy back onto the bed. Malfoy situated himself on top, straddling the bronzed body beneath him, and dug his nails into Voldemort’s scalp as he fisted the resilient strands.  
  
He pulled and dragged before Voldemort forced his hands loose and pushed him down onto his chest with his arse in the air. Harry noticed he didn’t stretch Malfoy or use any sort of lubrication before he pushed into him. His gaze pessimistically shifted down to Malfoy’s face, expecting to see agony, tears, humiliation, or desolation but what he saw was concentration.  
  
He watched as Voldemort reached under Malfoy – surely there was no way he was hard? – and yet, Voldemort’s hand stayed and his arm made the telltale jerking motion until he withdrew it. Malfoy was aroused and Harry found, to his intense disgust, so was he.  
  
He didn’t want to be turned on by this but Malfoy, with his flushed cheeks, milky skin, and tousled hair, really was beautiful and he could almost imagine it was _them_ on that bed. At least until Voldemort conjured something that glinted and shimmered in his hand.  
  
Harry recognized it as a knife only seconds before he brought it down and slashed it across Malfoy’s back. Malfoy screamed, a hoarse short burst, and Harry wanted it to stop. He wanted to shove his fingers in his ears and never hear that sound again. He wanted to kill this monster.  
  
Harry wanted to look away so badly, his eyes watering with the effort, but he couldn’t. He mentally distanced himself, remembering photographically where the healing salve was, already thinking of how he would heal Malfoy, hold him, soothe him off to sleep. He refused to think of _this_. Of Malfoy’s screams, of Voldemort’s sick enjoyment, of the endless blood.  
  
Voldemort looked like he was getting close as he slashed each time he thrust, the blood apparently exciting him. He finally moaned and collapsed on top of Malfoy with a breathless, “Draco.” Voldemort looked over at Harry and smiled horrifically. He pushed Malfoy’s hair back from his ear and whispered, “It seems as if your _pet_ has enjoyed our performance.”  
  
Malfoy’s head shot up and Harry saw his eyes narrow as he took in the brunet’s still hard cock before he looked into Harry’s eyes, his own staunch with revulsion. Harry wanted so desperately to explain that it wasn’t what he thought but You Know Who was still there.  
  
He rolled Malfoy onto his back and Harry was forced to watch as they kissed; Voldemort nipping and biting Malfoy’s lips. He finally withdrew and grabbed his robes, throwing them on as he became pale and cold-blooded once again. He stroked Malfoy’s cheek and said as if he expected a reprimand, “I apologize for arriving without notice but I simply—”  
  
Malfoy grabbed his hand and pressed his lips to it tenderly. “It is and always has been a pleasure to see you, My Lord. No notice, short notice, late notice, it does not matter.”  
  
Voldemort eyed him hungrily and crushed their lips together. “I do love you, my Draco.”  
  
Malfoy nodded sagely. “Of course, My Lord, as I do you.”  
  
Voldemort stood regally and bent down to pick up Malfoy’s wand and hand it to him. He grinned lasciviously and leered at Malfoy. “Be seeing you, love.”  
  
Malfoy collapsed back onto the bed and whimpered as soon as he was gone. “Potter, come here,” he said, a surprising amount of strength to his words. Harry got up and walked toward him, hoping he was still allowed to be on his own two feet. Malfoy lifted his arms and placed them around Harry’s neck.  
  
Harry was shocked but immediately returned the hug, nuzzling into Malfoy’s neck, hopefully unnoticeably, which was when he felt the fingers unbuckling his collar.  
  
His face heated and he withdrew his own arms embarrassedly. Malfoy placed the collar on the nightstand and was looking everywhere but Harry.  
  
He felt like an idiot. Of course Malfoy wouldn’t want to hug him. What the hell had he been thinking?  
  
Malfoy held up his wand weakly and Harry felt his shoulders pop back into place. “What are you doing?” Harry asked more harshly than he’d intended. He cringed but swallowed his fear and kept going. “You should be worrying about yourself, not me.” He pushed Malfoy back down onto the bed as he tried to sit up. “You shouldn’t be wasting your magic on me. _You_ need it to heal.” He bit his lip as Malfoy stared at him inscrutably. “I’ll go get the salve,” he said uncertainly.  
  
Malfoy was already on his stomach when Harry reentered the room, salve in hand. Harry spread it over the his back, watching Malfoy shudder as the cool substance met with his wounds. The room was eerily silent until Malfoy broke it by spitting venomously, “Enjoyed that, did you?”  
  
Harry’s eyes widened and he immediately tried to defend himself. “Malfoy, I—”  
  
Malfoy snarled. “I knew you hated me, Potter, but I didn’t think it would _entertain_ you _so much_ watching me get what for.” Harry shook his head desperately but Malfoy just kept going. “You think I fucking deserve it, don’t you? That I’m just getting what’s always been coming to me, right?”  
  
He finished with the salve as Malfoy sat up and glared at him.  
  
“God no, Malfoy,” Harry breathed, near tears. “S-Stop saying those things,” he said weakly, every inch of him trembling at the agony Malfoy’s words brought. He would take the collar everyday over this. He couldn’t believe Malfoy could think that of him.  
  
Malfoy grabbed the salve from Harry’s hands, slathered some on his palms, and rubbed it into Harry’s shoulders as he dispelled the bruises. Harry looked away from Malfoy’s demanding eyes, knowing he was still waiting for an explanation. His gaze shifted to the floor as he said meekly, “I got… I was… I-I like you, that’s why I…”  
  
Malfoy’s hand stopped and he gazed at Harry hard, his voice unsure. “You mean you…?” He looked down and saw Harry’s unabated arousal, recently renewed to its full potential by Malfoy’s massaging fingertips.  
  
“Yeah,” Harry said dully, awaiting Malfoy's reaction but he seemed to have frozen in shock. Unable to bear the silence any longer, he fled the bedroom, going back to his own.  
  
He nestled under the covers and was surprised when his door opened and Malfoy entered. He walked over to Harry's bed and sat down on the edge next to him.  
  
“It’s not an act,” Malfoy spat caustically. He grabbed Harry’s chin and sneered, “You’re just lucky I keep this flagellation turned inward.” He let go and stood, his hand on the door handle. “I’m inhuman,” he proclaimed simply and inarguably as he left.  
  
And Harry knew, tonight he would not follow him into bed, nor the night after.

_The world outside these walls.  
_

Snape’s bony-fingered hand brushed over Malfoy’s jaw serenely. His coal black eyes glittered as he said silkily, his voice low, “There’s something to be said for patience.”  
  
Harry crouched down lower in his hiding spot as Malfoy batted his hand away harshly. He turned his back on the man and paced in front of the foyer’s fireplace. He rounded on him and growled, “There’s something to be said for stupidity! How long am I expected to endure this?”  
  
“For as long as it takes,” Snape said curtly, absentmindedly clenching the hand that had been rudely swatted away into a fist. Snape watched Malfoy’s eyes darken and he scoffed cruelly. “Do not martyr yourself, Draco.”  
  
“Don’t talk like him,” Malfoy all but screamed. He had clearly forgotten Harry was there and that he had been trying to sleep. Malfoy clenched his teeth and pushed Snape back, fisting his robes. “Don’t you ever talk like him,” he snarled.  
  
Snape sneered coldly, his voice richly velvet. “I have no choice but to. You know this.” He forced Draco’s hands away from him and informed impatiently, “You have mourned enough.”  
  
“How dare you tell me—” Malfoy began angrily.  
  
“To move on?” Snape interrupted with a malicious grin. He smoothed his robes and didn’t look up as he said in a clipped tone, “It is time you heard it.”  
  
Malfoy looked away, fury in his eyes, as he gritted his teeth. He asked, his hands shaking at his sides, “Why did it have to be you who—”  
  
Snape shrugged his shoulders back and stood taller. “Because I am easily dispensable,” he said smoothly.  
  
Malfoy’s head snapped up at that and his eyes lost their focus. He moved closer to the other man, his hands reaching out shakily to come to rest on Snape’s broad chest. He bit his lip and whispered, “Never,” as he leaned forward with the intention of brushing their lips together.  
  
Snape turned his head away at the last second and said in a tightly controlled voice, “It is unfair of you to do this and then ask me to stop.”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes turned icy. His features became impassive and he said in a callous tone, “Get out, then.”  
  
Snape nodded tersely, fixed his robes once more, and disappeared into the roaring green fire. Malfoy stared at the dwindling flames for a moment, looking lost in the rhythmic movement, before cracking his neck, composing himself, and walking calmly up the stairs.  
  
Harry heard the light rap of knuckles against a door and realized that Malfoy was most likely looking for him. He took the stairs two at a time and, while he didn’t want to tell Malfoy he’d been spying, he knew he would if Malfoy asked it of him.  
  
He walked to his open door and found Malfoy sitting on his bed, twisting one of Harry’s shirts between his hands, seemingly unaware of his presence. Harry cleared his throat as unobtrusively as he could and Malfoy’s eyes flickered over to him.  
  
He placed Harry’s shirt on the bed gently and stood up carefully before walking over to him. He stared at Harry for a moment, as if sizing him up, before questioning without inflection, as though he didn’t really care about the answer, “Would you like to go out?”  
  
“I – yes,” Harry said, nodding. He had opened his mouth with the intention of questioning where before reluctantly admitting to himself that it didn’t matter either way. The choice of being with Malfoy or being stuck alone – well, with Eve – in the manor was a simple one.  
  
“It’s cold out,” Malfoy said somewhat brusquely. “Dress warmly.”  
  
Harry met Malfoy at the bottom of the stairs, his fingers playing nervously with his scarf. In addition to his much-too-long scarf, he was wearing a wool black trench coat and heavy gray trousers. He felt rather like a child dressed in an adult’s attire. It made him feel very small, standing next to Malfoy who was wearing something similar but looking as if the clothes were made for him.  
  
Malfoy handed gloves to Harry before pulling leather ones over his own pale hands. He wrapped his long arms around Harry’s waist while Harry instinctively held him back. “I’m going to Apparate us,” Malfoy said with a perked brow.  
  
Harry caught the unspoken direction to let go but he ignored it. He only tightened his hold in response and pressed his face into Malfoy’s chest to avoid the rebuke that was most assuredly written all over his face.  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut tight as he felt the familiar grip of Apparation take hold of him. His feet planted firmly on solid ground and, rather than feeling the loss of Malfoy’s warmth, it pressed inexorably closer. Malfoy’s hands flexed on his back as he leaned closer, his silky hair brushing Harry’s neck, and his breath whispering over his cheek. “Don’t open your eyes,” he said softly.  
  
Harry didn’t even think to disobey as a shiver of delight stole through him. He nodded obediently and turned his face into Malfoy’s neck, glad to have the pretense of shielding his eyes.  
  
“Potter,” Malfoy said uneasily, almost – though Harry barely dared to believe it – as if he were feeling some genuine emotion toward him. Malfoy sighed before continuing. “It’s not your world anymore. There’s nothing left. I-I’m sorry.”  
  
“Malfoy,” Harry breathed with a tremor in his voice. What was he saying?  
  
Malfoy gave him a final squeeze before he withdrew, still staying close enough that Harry could easily step into his embrace should he need it. “Open your eyes,” Malfoy said quietly.  
  
Harry did as he was told and immediately reached back for Malfoy’s hand with a gasp, squeezing it far too tightly. Harry felt as if he had stepped into a black and white World War II film. His world – their world – was covered in ash. It was as if a snow of destruction had blanketed the entire area. There was no color, just gray. The residue of the once great town of Diagon slid like soft powder between his fingers.  
  
An acrid smell was now permeating the air along with the heady scent of a recent fire. Buildings were little more than ruins and the air was thick with floating remnants of them. Harry jumped and felt his stomach clench as a loud clanging broke the stiff silence. He whirled around and saw dust and cinders rising up from the ground.  
  
The once proud sign proclaiming ‘ _Diagon Alley_ ’ had fallen from its rusted hinges and now lay, charred, amongst the rubble. His voice positively shook and he turned to find Malfoy standing there, his eyes detachedly surveying him. “Wh – but how?”  
  
Malfoy shook his head and Harry stepped closer to him. He didn’t want to know any of this, he wanted Malfoy to envelope him until he didn’t remember anything but his warmth. He wanted this to all just be a memory.  
  
“People gave up hope,” Malfoy said evenly, “they stopped fighting.”  
  
Harry’s eyes widened and the cold mask of understanding settled over his features. “Because of me,” he said bitterly. It wasn’t a question.  
  
Malfoy looked away from him and said gently, “Everyone thought you were dead.”  
  
Tears stung the corners of Harry’s eyes but he shook them off. “That smell…” he said slowly.  
  
Malfoy’s gaze caught his, his grey eyes imbued with gravity. “Burning flesh,” he whispered seriously. “There was a raid here. They razed the buildings to the ground and trapped everyone inside, sealed off Apparation, closed the grates, and boarded up the exits.” His hands shook furiously and he shoved them into his pockets. “It-it was a massacre.”  
  
Harry stepped up in front of him and tried to catch his restless eyes. He reached for Malfoy’s chin, swallowing hard, feeling reckless and forward. “Were you – did you participate?”  
  
Malfoy hesitated. “Yes,” he said finally. Harry gazed at him with compassionate emerald orbs and Malfoy added unnecessarily, with a cold sneer, “I killed people here.”  
  
Harry’s gaze dropped and he stepped back in shock, wondering distantly if the dust he kicked up was ground-up bone or rubble. His mouth gaped but he couldn’t bring himself to form words. He turned his back on Malfoy and wrapped his arms around himself, the tears falling now despite his best efforts. He shook his head and whispered desolately, “I don’t want to know this. I don’t want to know any of this.”  
  
Malfoy’s voice was emotionless and arctic, “I tried to tell you what I was, Potter. I’ve killed people you love, your mentors, your friends. I’m a murderer,” he said with a sense of finality, “a common Death Eater. I’m not worth your devotion.”  
  
He finally understood what Malfoy had been trying to tell him the other night. That he wasn’t what Harry thought he was. He wanted Harry to believe that the man he cared for was a man he, himself, had created and that Malfoy had never been anything but a monster.  
  
He spun around and buried his face in Malfoy’s neck. “Why do you do it?” he demanded desperately. His protector couldn’t be evil. He just couldn’t. There had to be a reason.  
  
Malfoy’s eyes were like jewels. Lifeless but dazzling. “I am a wicked soul,” he barked grimly.  
  
Harry shook his head and clung more fiercely to Malfoy. “If you were then you wouldn’t have put up that act for You Know Who. You would’ve just beat me and raped me rather than feigning it. You would ravage my mind, you would delight in your control over me, you would be everything I ever thought you were,” Harry finished in a whisper, feeling awful for admitting what he had believed Malfoy to be capable of. Malfoy had been right. His opinion of him had been quite low.  
  
Malfoy said nothing and Harry scrabbled for a tighter hold. “But you’re not like Him,” he breathed ferociously, “you’re better than that.”  
  
Malfoy stepped further away from him and his lip raised spitefully. “You don’t know anything about me, Potter.” He gestured around them and spat icily, “You don’t know what I’ve done to survive this.”  
  
Harry had one thing in this shitstorm that was his life and that was Malfoy. He refused to allow him to so callously rip that away.  
  
Harry clenched his jaw and said in a hard tone, feeling oddly powerful in the wreck that You Know Who had left them in, “I have to have something in the wake of all this, Malfoy. I have you. I have faith in you.” Malfoy took an involuntary step backward at Harry’s words. “Nothing you can say will destroy that. I know you’re a good man. I’ve seen it.”  
  
Malfoy raised an eyebrow mockingly and tongued the inside of his cheek. “And what are you, Potter?”  
  
Harry didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”  
  
“His name,” Malfoy remarked. “I know my reasons for the shiver it sends up my spine, but hearing ‘You Know Who’ from your lips? That disheartens more than I can say. You’re meant to be stronger, braver, than the rest of us, Potter.”  
  
Harry inhaled a too sharp breath. As if it were that easy to just stop being afraid? That _thing_ had stolen his life and he was just meant to pick himself up, brush himself off, and keep fighting? He didn’t even know what he was fighting for anymore. “And you think that’s fair?” he questioned with slit-like eyes.  
  
“When has your life ever been fair?” Malfoy snapped back instantly. He pushed back his shoulders and cleared his throat. “I don’t have time for this,” he said coldly and started walking towards one of the dilapidated stores.  
  
The ceiling had caved in and Harry tried to recreate the layout of Diagon from memory so he could identify it but was interrupted by Malfoy’s voice, “There were stores of Dreamless Sleep potion under the Apothecary’s floorboards. I’ll be a minute or so. Wait here.”  
  
Harry nodded and Malfoy stopped before disappearing in the rubble, looking uncertain. “Would you like any for yourself?”  
  
Harry closed his eyes and let the kindness of the question wash over him before he shook his head.  
  
Malfoy returned three minutes later with a bag that Harry hadn’t seen him come in with under his arm. He nodded to Harry before placing a pale hand on his shoulder and momentarily blinking them out of existence.  
  
Malfoy had Apparated them into the kitchen and placed the bag down on the counter while Harry watched him. He couldn’t help but think that something had changed between them. Malfoy, for the first time since Harry had been bestowed upon him, had actually had a real conversation, had actually seemed to care about something for once.  
  
He was always so detached, as if he intended to stroll through the rest of his life, removed from all the events within it. But now, his cheeks were flushed, his hair was mussed, and his chest was rising and falling quickly as if he were actually a living person rather than a wax representation.  
  
In short, he was gorgeous. More breath-taking than Harry had ever seen him.  
  
Malfoy glanced up at him and noticed his dreamy expression. He sighed and moved around the counter until he was standing directly in front of Harry.  
  
Harry blinked exaggeratedly, having been so lost in daydreams of Malfoy that he hadn’t realized he had moved. Harry swallowed and looked up into enigmatic grey eyes.  
  
“I’m a lost cause,” Malfoy stated sincerely and without preamble.  
  
Harry started to shake his head in confusion when Malfoy’s arm whipped out, grabbed him by the wrist, and shoved his hand down the front of his trousers.  
  
Harry gaped at him, his mouth moving ceaselessly and pointlessly, while his eyes widened in shock. He made a series of unintelligible noises before Malfoy started to move his hand up and down. “Feel that?” he spat caustically.  
  
Harry did.  
  
He could feel the velveteen skin of Malfoy’s cock brushing up and down the length of his palm as Malfoy rhythmically rode his hand. But… something was wrong. He ignored Malfoy’s controlling grip and used his own rhythm, curling his hand around the creamy organ he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.  
  
He twisted and thumbed and rubbed for three full minutes before he forced himself to admit defeat.  
  
“You’re-you’re soft,” he near whimpered.  
  
Malfoy’s sad smile was nearly triumphant and he hammered the thought in, “Impotent, incapable of gaining tumescence, however you want to say it. I have no sexual appetite any longer, Potter.” He withdrew his own hand but didn’t say or do anything about Harry’s. He sighed, “Without magic, I can’t.”  
  
Harry shook his head, his hand still pumping the uninterested organ. He didn’t understand. “But you – You Know Who and—”  
  
“Wordless spell,” Malfoy said, sounding exhausted. “It allows me to gain and even keep an erection through the pain.”  
  
Harry moved closer to Malfoy’s body, his hand gripping tighter, his strokes becoming rougher. “But I could—” he started desperately.  
  
“No, you couldn’t,” Malfoy said flatly. “Whatever you thought was going to come of this is impossible.” He pulled Harry’s hand off of him gently.  
  
Harry stared at it for a moment before looking up at Malfoy. Malfoy gave him a tired half-smile and started to move away from him. Harry watched him go, mumbling sourly, “I bet Snape could get you hard.”  
  
The light in the kitchen flickered and the chandelier shook precariously. “What did you just say?” Malfoy demanded, rounding on him. His face was so close that Harry could see flecks of blue in his grey eyes; he could even see his perfectly straight teeth gritted together as he hissed through them, “Don’t you ever – _ever_ – mention that name again. Do you understand me?”  
  
Harry nodded rapidly before Malfoy could stalk out of the room. So much for progress.

  
_Lies as sharp as knives._

Harry ran, faster and faster, but his lungs were burning and the exit to Diagon never seemed to move closer. He was going to be caught and held down while his skin was flayed from his bones inch by wicked inch, but his feet still wouldn't _move_. He was running but getting nowhere. The helplessness was drowning him in unshed tears and his gasps for breath were becoming dry heaves.  
  
Sobs were just beginning to build in his throat when he threw himself into the alley between Gambol  & Japes and the Magical Menagerie. His hands were shaking and his legs felt numb and unsupported, like quivering gelatin. The sun beat down on his neck as he craned it, terrified, around the corner. He didn't understand it, it was a clear day and all the shops were open. Where was everyone? Why was no one here to _help_ him?  
  
He glanced across the way, panicked, sweating, pessimistic, and his eyes landed on _him_.  
  
Malfoy.  
  
Harry let out a shaky laugh of pure relief as he watched Malfoy enter the store across from him. Malfoy would help him, Harry was certain of it, Malfoy wouldn't leave him to that-that…  
  
No one, especially not Malfoy, was that heartless. Harry checked the street once more and, seeing nothing, he tore across the thoroughfare after him but, in an instant, the store was gone. Instead, cinders and rubble lay at his feet and the roof opened up on a gray sky.  
  
"Malfoy!" he called out desperately, but there was no sign of him. No sign of any life at all.  
  
He walked forward slowly, a lump in his throat and a bad feeling in his gut. The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he spun around, a skeletal, eyeless face descending on him. The thing held him down and the bone of its finger dug into his cheek and peeled the flesh from his face while he screamed himself hoarse, calling out for Malfoy who never came to his rescue.

* * *

Harry jolted awake in a panic, the image of a skeletal hand with pale scraps of flesh clinging to it still causing his pulse to quicken. He admonished himself for his curiosity as it was responsible for the _Acies_ within his dreams.  
  
Malfoy had been right. His book of demons was clearly not bedtime reading. However, Harry had seen more bookmarks in the out of place book, resting on the table by the fireplace, and been unable to help himself. Even knowing he would find the subject matter morbid, he wanted to stay informed, to know what Malfoy was facing, whether in opposition or, if he'd been telling the truth in the remains of Diagon Alley, embracing as an ally.  
  
He scanned the page quickly, part of the dream still niggling at him:

 

_Acies or Sombis (in the States)._

_Have a rotted, skeletal appearance. Quite possibly where the Muggle term 'zombies' was derived._

_Acies, contrary to popular belief, are created not born. They were once human and, through the outlawed practices of necromancy and sorcery, driven to their unfortunate appearances: fleshless, eyeless, and soulless. It is still unseen, to this day, whether Acies breed as no researcher has ever gotten close enough to a clan and lived to report on his findings._

_These ill-fated creatures are highly susceptible to the pull of power, either magical or Muggle, the latter exemplified by the brutal rule of Genghis Khan. While Muggles have come to believe that Acies feed upon the brains of the living, the truth is that they still retain an echo of their previous human intelligence and feast not upon brain but flesh. Including their own. It is considered an induction into the clan of Acies once an afflicted individual has "shed their skin."_

_Oftentimes it is seen as a bonding experience if other Acies join in on the banquet. An Acie will never retain its own skin once turned, it will either consume it itself, offer to an elder Acie as a show of respect, or a rival Acie will devour not only their skin but their bones as well, effectively ending that Acie's initiation in rather gory fashion._

_When under the command of a powerful individual their talents include removing the eyes of their victims and placing them into their own hollow ocular cavities. In doing so, they gain the memories of their victim and can recall everything the person has seen in his lifetime. It is a highly rare and profitable faculty that has led to both the exaltation and exiling of Acies for centuries._

  
Harry shivered and closed the book with a satisfying _snap_ before losing himself in thought. It hadn't been the _Acies_ that had poked at his memories. As disgusting and terrifying as they had been, they hadn't sparked anything.  
  
A seemingly unrelated memory floated to the forefront.  
  
 _"There were stores of Dreamless Sleep potion under the Apothecary's floorboards. I'll be a minute or so."  
  
"Would you like any for yourself?"_  
  
Harry's eyes pinched slightly and he realized what had bothered him about the dream. He could see the store Malfoy had entered vividly, hear the creaking hinges of the gently swaying sign proclaiming, ' _Obscurus Books: the rarest, the richest, the best_.' The dream dissipated slowly and Harry immersed himself in the memory of he and Malfoy standing in the ruins of Diagon Alley, where Malfoy's blond head disappeared beneath the floorboards of the very same store.  
  
 _Apothecary_.  
  
No. _Obscurus Books_.  
  
Harry leaned into the uncomfortably straight-backed chair and shook his head. No. Malfoy wouldn't have lied to him. Harry admitted to himself that Malfoy didn't even seem to care enough _to_ lie. There was no reason for Malfoy to have offered him a vial of Dreamless Sleep unless that was what he intended to get when he had left.  
  
It was his memory that was faulty, not Malfoy's words. It had to be.  
  
Harry bit his lip, the questions he didn't want to be asking himself haunting his every step as he placed the book back in the exact same spot he'd found it with trepid fingers and prepared to tiptoe down the hall, certain that Malfoy would be asleep by now.  
  
He paused outside Malfoy's bedroom, considering the risk of slipping into the man's bed like he used to, thinking it might bring them closer, at least physically, as Malfoy was now more distant than ever after Harry's mention of… the man he was no longer meant to mention. He had just reluctantly decided that it wasn't his place to make those decisions for Malfoy when he heard Malfoy's voice say in the harshest tone he'd ever heard him use, "Do it."  
  
The imaginary lump from Harry's dream took up real residence in his throat and he cautiously pushed open the door to Malfoy's bedroom, unable to stop himself as a fierce protectiveness swelled in his breast.  
  
He strained his eyes, expecting to see Voldemort standing over Malfoy, his blade bloody, but all he could see in the sliver of Malfoy's room that the door allowed was Eve, pacing around the floor in the form of a house-cat as she often did. Her mouth was open but Malfoy must have cast a _Muffliato_ on the sound she was making as no noise broke through the door's barrier.  
  
Harry threw caution to the wind and swung the door half turn, taking a timid step forward before his hands flew to his ears. Eve was making the most hideous screeching sound, like rusty nails against a black board, causing Harry's skin to crawl unhappily. He glanced around for Malfoy, wondering how he could stand this when he caught sight of him, sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed, Eve ambling about in front of him.  
  
He was white as a sheet and Harry could see one of his hands gripping the carpet so tightly it looked as if he was prepared to rip out large chunks at any moment. His jaw was clenched together hard and, had Eve been silent, Harry was sure he'd be able to hear the squeak of Malfoy's teeth as he ground them together.  
  
Harry didn't know what was happening but he wanted it to _stop_. It was obviously upsetting Malfoy, maybe even physically hurting him from how ill he looked. He thought Eve was meant to be attuned to Malfoy's emotions so why was she doing this to him? Harry took a step forward, intending to forcefully _make_ her leave Malfoy alone when the hideous, ghastly, grating noise finally ceased.  
  
Eve transformed instantly into a giant wolf and curled around Malfoy in a horseshoe, her head and tail in his lap and the rest of her body behind him. Malfoy turned to bury his face in her atramentous fur, Harry just catching sight of his tear-streaked face as he cried silently against Eve's neck, his shoulders heaving and his voice choked as he whispered, "I miss him, Eve. I miss him so much."  
  
Harry backed out of the room, feeling as if he were intruding on Malfoy's anguish, and closed the door as quietly as he could behind him with a soft _snick_.  
  
He didn't even bother to change out of his clothes before collapsing into his own bed and pulling the covers up to his chin, wishing fruitlessly that Malfoy would confide in him.  
  
He didn't get any sleep that night.

* * *

Harry descended the stairs, eyes bleary from a lack of rest, and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Malfoy sitting at the breakfast table. Despite occasionally taking meals together, which they hadn't done since that night in the kitchen a week ago, they hadn't had breakfast together but once.  
  
And Harry certainly wouldn't have expected it now, considering Malfoy was doing everything in his power to maintain an icy wall of silence between them. He approached warily, not wanting to do anything that might make the other man storm off in disgust or anger.  
  
He sat down at the opposite end of the dining room table, a house-elf bringing out a plate of eggs as soon as he drew back his chair. He pressed his hair down flat against his forehead, hoping it would hide his eyes enough that he could watch Malfoy out of his periphery without him noticing.  
  
This morning paralleled the only other that Harry had been lucky enough to spend with Malfoy; he was busy penning a letter, oblivious to his ever-cooling breakfast, with other correspondence scrolls piled up around him. Harry was struck again with the feeling of familiarity as he glanced at the symbols.  
  
"Morning," Harry said softly, hoping it would cure Malfoy of his stony expression.  
  
Malfoy didn't even glance up.  
  
Harry swallowed uncomfortably and pushed his eggs around his plate desolately, allowing his mind to wander rather than dwell on his disappointment.  
  
He looked up again, deciding to watch Malfoy unabashedly since he wouldn't even acknowledge Harry’s presence. His eyes landed on Malfoy's hands once again and something clicked. Harry sat up straighter.  
  
"That's-that's Order code," he blurted in awe before cringing, admonishing himself for speaking out of turn.  
  
Malfoy's eyes widened but he determinedly kept his head down while his jaw tightened.  
  
Harry's mouth drew slack and he stuttered, "Wha-wha," without really meaning to while his brain caught up. Malfoy knew Order code, then that meant that he was most likely…  
  
He wasn't evil! He was a part of the Order of the Phoenix, he was working _against_ Voldemort. He _did_ care. Whatever Malfoy had tried to make him believe before, he _was_ a good man. Harry's grin was unstoppable and Malfoy's head jerked up the second it had fully spread across his face.  
  
"What?" he demanded, a finite bite to his tone.  
  
"You are a good man," Harry said quietly, still smiling slightly in a somewhat bemused fashion.  
  
Malfoy sneered at him, his countenance closed and cold. "Perhaps I'm translating it for the Dark Lord, giving up all your little friends' secrets."  
  
Harry's face fell and he looked away from the ugly expression pasted over Malfoy's features. "You wouldn't do that," he whispered blankly.  
  
"Wouldn't I?" Malfoy asked mockingly. "You don't know me, Potter. Don't pretend to."  
  
Harry nodded, unable to meet Malfoy's eyes, and stared down at his untouched plate of food. He had a thought suddenly and looked up, catching Malfoy's gaze as Malfoy stared at him with something akin to curiosity. Malfoy ruffled at being caught and his mouth tightened. "My friends?" Harry asked slowly, as if he was trying to keep the words from slipping past his lips even as he said them.  
  
"What?" Malfoy barked, seeming shifty and avoidant. Harry noticed he wasn't looking at him any longer.  
  
"You said 'my little friends', who—" Harry's voice stuck, "are they – they're still—"  
  
Malfoy purposefully turned his head away and acted as if Harry had never posed the question.  
  
"Malfoy?" Harry prompted.  
  
"Potter, I—" Malfoy had just started when he was cut off by an owl swooping in with a familiar black-sealed scroll in its beak.  
  
"Malfoy," Harry spouted in shock before he could stop himself, "don't go."  
  
But Malfoy had already broken open the seal, the Dark Mark wafting up from its center, his features hard but his voice uncannily steady, "Not only must I go but he requires your presence as well."  
  
Malfoy stood up and glared impatiently at Harry as he had yet to move.  
  
"You can't just—" Harry started, his throat feeling tight.  
  
"I can. And so will you," Malfoy said in a commanding baritone. Harry didn't move as bruises bloomed over his forearms. He looked down at his clothing, knowing he would have to rid himself of it soon, place a collar of ownership around his neck, and crawl on his hands and knees. Harry looked up to see Malfoy, standing unconcerned and impassive at the head of the table. He nearly looked away in anger when he noticed Malfoy’s hands were shaking.  
  
Harry couldn't bring himself to move, both immobilized and disgusted by the tremors of fear that ran through him. Malfoy seemed to understand and his features softened for the second time since Harry had been in the mansion. "He won't hurt you," he said in an uncharacteristically gentle tone that disappeared immediately after the words were said.  
  
 _But he'll hurt you_ , Harry didn't say. His fingers shook around his fork and he put it down charily, not realizing he'd still been holding it until it started _tinking_ against his plate. He stood up, disrobing slowly. He looked up only to find that Malfoy had left the room. He swallowed and folded his clothes, leaving them on the seat of his chair, feeling empty and lost.  
  
He glanced up just in time to see Malfoy striding down the stairs. Malfoy walked over, stopping in front of him, robes slung over his crossed arms. He placed said robe around Harry's shoulders, his features carefully expressionless. Harry shrugged into the light clothing and kept his gaze trained on Malfoy's face, searching for some flicker of emotion as he stood there in front of him, Harry naked but for a thin scrap of cloth and feeling unbelievably vulnerable.  
  
There was nothing. _Nothing_.  
  
Harry's eyes lowered to the floor as Malfoy handed Harry the collar rather than securing it himself. Malfoy really didn't care. But he had made that clear, hadn't he? Harry couldn't arouse any type of emotion from this statue of a man. The only man he had ever wanted to.  
  
"Ready?" Malfoy asked neutrally.  
  
Harry didn't even bother to reply, wondering if that would give Malfoy any sort of pause.  
  
It didn't.  
  
He simply dropped a hand on Harry's shoulder and blinked them out of existence.  
  
Harry found himself standing in the Atrium of the once great and bustling Ministry of Magic. For everything Harry had seen, it looked as if the entire world was dead, hollowed out and cold.  
  
The wind whistled in through a blast mark in the outer wall and chilled him to the bone. "Your hands and knees," Malfoy said in a hushed tone, his breath coming out in a rush. Harry sunk down to the floor as Malfoy took his robe, balling it up and shrinking it to fit in his pocket.  
  
"I thought – just Diagon, but – the _Ministry_?" Harry asked shakily, his head low, his sudden shock and despair making it hard to form coherent sentences.  
  
To Harry's surprise, Malfoy crouched down next to him and said without looking at him, "You must have known." Unlike in Diagon, he didn't appear to be comforting Harry but rather comforting himself. He was taking deep, visible breaths to soothe his quaking nerves.  
  
"I suspected but I didn't _know_ ," Harry whispered back quietly. Saying, slightly ashamed and soft, "I didn't want to know, didn't want it ever confirmed. And I never would have thought… _this_."  
  
"No one would blame you for that, Potter," Malfoy said grimly, staring down at his own hands, his eyes unfocused.  
  
"Malfoy?" Harry asked worriedly, thankfully used to being naked and on his hands and knees and therefore not feeling all that discomfited even as he extended their conversation.  
  
Malfoy's hands were still shaking badly. "It – There might be Inferi or _Imperius'd_ Ministry workers, perhaps even children, further down." He shot Harry a sharp glare. "You cannot get involved or you will out us both. If you do not act your part, they will break you and kill me."  
  
Harry swallowed hard. "You Know Who – he wouldn't – he loves you, doesn't he?"  
  
Malfoy scoffed in revulsion. "Think of what you're saying, Potter. _Love_? What he does to me, does that _look_ like love?"  
  
Harry shook his head, answering softly, "No."  
  
"If I disobey him, I'm just as dead as any other," Malfoy said, staring at the hole in the wall, an exit, without really seeing it. "The only difference is my betrayal will be seen as personal, and my death and torture will be just as personal." Malfoy finally focused on him and said in a deadly serious tone, "Be cautious and, above all, _obey_. That is all I ask of you."  
  
Harry nodded gravely and Malfoy stood up, the tremors in his fingers having subsided. He dropped two of the smooth tips on Harry's back, squeezing them through space just as a woman's scream echoed off a hallway to their right.  
  
Malfoy didn't spare him a second glance as their feet and, in Harry's case, hands, planted outside a closed door. He turned the handle without preamble and entered the room, Harry crawling after him, uncomfortably alert.  
  
To Malfoy's credit, he gave no reaction to the sight that greeted them, his hands stayed perfectly steady and he did not pale or shrink in on himself. Harry, however, wanted to tackle Malfoy to the ground and take him far away from this place, from what was coming. He was sure his anxiety was all too visible but Tom Riddle only had eyes for Malfoy; wide, maniacal eyes.  
  
His hand brushed over the rack in the middle of the room and Harry repressed a shiver as he watched Malfoy's eyes flicker to it. Voldemort whispered something harshly under his breath but Harry was too steeped in his own disbelief to understand it.  
  
"My Lord," he heard Malfoy say as if he were hearing him from underwater, the sound distorted and fuzzy.  
  
Voldemort couldn't – he wouldn't. Not to Malfoy. There was no reason – he wouldn't torture a man he claimed to love.  
  
"The Order," Voldemort spat. And Harry managed to contain his horrified gasp while he inwardly panicked. He couldn't _know_. Malfoy had been so careful. Harry hadn't even known until that morning. He simply couldn't know.  
  
"I know, My Lord." Malfoy's voice was soothing and calm, undaunted. What did Malfoy mean 'he knew'? He knew what? "Who?" Malfoy asked with apparent concern.  
  
"Macnair," Voldemort hissed, green eyes glowing. "He was a favorite of mine, brutal and ruthless with that axe of his."  
  
"But of course, My Lord," Malfoy conceded, taking a step forward.  
  
"I will make them pay," Voldemort promised as he pulled Malfoy to himself roughly and ground against him hard.  
  
"They are but desperate people with desperate plots, My Lord," Malfoy said with a sneer, looking disgusted by the very idea of it while he fisted his hands in You Know Who's hair. "A pathetic, self-righteous bunch. And, for all they do, they have yet to _accomplish_ anything." The twisted grimace on Malfoy's face led Harry to believe that there was more truth to that than Malfoy would have liked.  
  
"You are right, as always, my love," Voldemort said with a sickly smile while he parted Malfoy's robes hungrily. "Disrobe while I get the chicotte," he ordered reverently, drawing his long, alien fingers down Malfoy's smooth cheek while Malfoy bowed his head in submission.  
  
Malfoy walked over next to Harry but did not look at him even as he addressed him, undressing slowly, "You will not move, you will not speak, unless he commands it."  
  
"But—" Harry began helplessly, the word impossibly hard to get out, his throat already closing as he disobeyed the direct command. Malfoy placed a hand on his shoulder and the pain lessened and faded away. Malfoy couldn't ask this of him, he couldn't expect Harry to just sit there while he was – while Voldemort… Harry just couldn't.  
  
Malfoy's eyes were arctic and Harry realized the topic was closed, and would be whether he could voice his objections or no.  
  
Voldemort reentered the room, dried hide in hand, and snapped it once with an eager look in his deceptively gentle green eyes. Malfoy positioned himself on the rack, his movements fluid and unafraid and Harry knew, in that moment, that it was more than attraction that he held for Malfoy. He genuinely _respected_ the man for what he'd gone through, for what he continued to go through.  
  
He could see Malfoy's body better than he'd been able to previously and was privy to nearly every scar, every bruise, every slice in the pale skin. Malfoy certainly wasn't gorgeous by conventional standards, all sharp lines and angles, pointy and emotionless in almost every situation. But his strength made him beautiful. It was him that Harry wanted. Not a feature, but the entire package.  
  
The straps of the rack were secured around his wrists and ankles but Malfoy didn't pull, didn't panic in his need to be free. He looked almost regal in the sacrificial position and Harry's reverence grew.  
  
Voldemort snapped the whip back and the first blow fell across Malfoy's chest as the rack extended. Each strike brought a corresponding half turn of the wheel and soon Malfoy was screaming, his body stretched beyond its limits and his chest, thighs, arms, and cock bloody and raw red.  
  
Voldemort seemed to be insatiable for Malfoy's pain, for Malfoy's screams, and even when he stopped and took Malfoy's aching, leaking cock in his hand, Malfoy was still whimpering, the welts and cuts making the action rough and unbearable to watch.  
  
But Harry _had_ to watch because he couldn't look away, couldn't close his eyes, couldn't even blink, his eyes uncomfortably itchy and painfully dry, he couldn't force a single muscle into action. He couldn't disobey Malfoy's orders not to move.  
  
And he had never hated Malfoy more than he did in that moment.  
  
Malfoy was incoherent when Voldemort finally ceased and loosened the straps holding him in place. "Draco, my love?" he said as he caught the boneless man in his arms, his voice unruffled and serene. Malfoy burbled something that wasn't intelligible before Voldemort laid him down on the bed behind them, on Malfoy's destroyed stomach, the sheets sticking to his wounds.  
  
If Harry had been able, he would have killed him. He would have killed him with his bare hands and not looked back.  
  
Voldemort's hands strayed to Malfoy's untouched backside and he hissed silkily, "Have you any idea how beautiful you are like this?" He propped Malfoy up on his knees and opened the small dresser next to the bed, coming back with a knife in hand. And Harry struggled to get free but his body didn't show any sign of his inner urgency.  
  
"You," Voldemort barked suddenly, looking right at Harry. He pointed the sharp edge of the knife at him and said with a warped grin on his face, "Entertain yourself."  
  
 _'You will not move, you will not speak, unless he commands it.'_  
  
 _No_ , Harry thought desperately even as his hand dropped down to envelope his limp cock.  
  
Voldemort's snake-like tongue darted out to lick his thin lips. "Go on," he prodded hungrily while the tip of the knife's blade hovered over Malfoy's back.  
  
Harry couldn't get aroused, not like this, not with Malfoy groaning in agony in front of him, not while Voldemort was still watching him with an impatient, desirous gleam. Not with his own memories of his face being ground into the soggy floor of his cell while Voldemort raped him in the background of his mind.  
  
He tried to imagine what his life would be like if he had never heard of Voldemort, never known of this world, if he and Malfoy were someplace far away from here, safe and unscarred by their pasts. Maybe then Malfoy would be able to love him, or even touch him, or simply _look_ at him and actually see him.  
  
And it was the image of Malfoy's eyes softened with care and affection that finally brought his flaccid cock to attention. Even through the pain of his watering, smarting eyes, he was able to feel pleasure at the metaphorical touch of Malfoy's fond gaze.  
  
His mind was focused elsewhere and therefore he didn't see when Voldemort thrust ruthlessly into Malfoy's limp body or the path the blade was winding until a pained, raw scream shot through the room.  
  
Harry's hand stopped moving over himself, despite the pull to continue, and his eyes cleared to find Malfoy's side had been punctured, the blade of the knife buried up to the hilt into his skin. Voldemort yanked on it without finesse, pulling it bodily from Malfoy's torso and licked the blood from the soiled blade with a moan, spilling his seed in the same moment.  
  
He collapsed on top of Malfoy who was now terrifyingly still and lay there, his ragged breaths the only thing that could be heard.  
  
Voldemort stood after gathering himself, grabbing his robe from where it was hanging on the rack, and threw a pinch of Floo powder into the dwindling flames before running his hand over Malfoy's back. "My love," he murmured and, to Harry's intense relief, Malfoy stirred slightly. "Leave when you are ready. I have a prisoner to attend to."  
  
And with that, he swept out of the room, leaving Harry at the mercy of the crippling panic that was flooding him.  
  
 _Malfoy_ , Harry _screamed_ wordlessly, _you have to tell me I can move._ Tell me _I can move!_  
  
But he couldn't make his mouth from the words and Malfoy was no longer stirring.  
  
"Potter," he heard faintly, the word sounding as if it had been gargled.  
  
Tears were leaking from Harry's eyes and he decided all at once. He fought Malfoy's hold.  
  
The pain was unbelievable, worse than a thousand Cruciatus curses being cast simultaneously. His body was on fire and he could barely bring himself to keep going. He would never make it to the bed, not like this.  
  
"Mal – foy," Harry coughed and choked. " _Pl-e-ase_." He tried to grab his throat as the words blazed through it but his hands would no longer obey him and he could do nothing but writhe on the floor as tremors and convulsions of pure agony coursed through him.  
  
There was no movement from the bed and Harry would never get to Malfoy himself, not before passing out from the pain, leaving Malfoy to bleed to death. He was helpless, and due to Malfoy's fucking _instructions_ he would have to watch every painful moment of his death, unable to look away. There was a shift from the mattress above him and a weak voice breathed, "Move."  
  
And Harry did. He was on his feet in an instant and raced to Malfoy's side, rolling him carefully onto his back, despising himself for causing Malfoy's wince but knowing it was necessary. He picked him up, sheet and all, placing one hand under his shoulders and the other under his knees. He was so light. _Too light_ , but Harry shook that thought off.  
  
The rattling breaths Malfoy was giving off were surprisingly comforting as Harry stepped into the Floo and shouted shakily, ' _Malfoy Manor_.' Harry coughed as they spun, the soot disturbingly thick, and he closed his eyes to keep them both lubricated and safe from any stray particles, which was when he heard a foreboding _thwack_.  
  
Malfoy's foot had struck the wall. And he hadn't cried out.  
  
There was no blood, but the skin was already beginning to bruise when the fireplace spat them out onto the floor of the foyer. Harry landed hard on his elbow in an effort not to land on top of Malfoy and he used his other arm to prop up Malfoy’s head with his forearm. He leaned down and placed his cheek over Malfoy's nose, feeling breath hit his cheek.  
  
He sat up, relieved, which was when he realized he had no way of healing Malfoy. Salve would never cure this. There was nothing he could do.  
  
An injured mewl drew his attention back to Malfoy but the man was still unconscious. Harry looked around and spotted Eve at the bottom of the stairs, crawling on her stomach as a shaggy, silver dog, looking too much like Sirius for comfort.  
  
"Help him, please," Harry begged as she edged closer to them. The mewling became louder and she collapsed onto her side while anger and despair clouded Harry's vision. "Wh-why won't you help him?" Harry cried desperately, pounding the floor next to Malfoy's battered chest uselessly.  
  
Eve made a low whining noise in the back of her throat and her fluid body began contorting into obviously painful mutations that didn't seem to be fully formed.  
  
 _"She's empathic to the person she bonds to."_  
  
"Oh God," Harry breathed in sudden understanding. "His pain is… your pain." This was beyond a salve's help, therefore it was beyond Eve's help. Malfoy really was dying. The unfinished bear cub at his feet made a whimpering noise and twisted in pain as Harry's eyes clouded over with tears. "E-Eve, stop trying to transform," he whispered quietly.  
  
Harry looked down on his broken protector and his panic set in fully, his movements jerky as he paced, wringing his hands and fisting his hair. "Eve," he sobbed, "I don't have magic. What can I – I can't do anything – What can I _do_?"  
  
Harry dried his tears on the bloodied sheet and tried to _think_. He glanced around in dawning horror, realizing that there was absolutely nothing he could do, he was _alone_ and the wounds were too extensive to heal without magic. Malfoy. Was. Going. To. Die.  
  
Harry fell to his knees at Malfoy's side and sobbed into his hands. "Malfoy," he choked, even though he knew he couldn't hear him, "what am I gonna – What are we going to do? What should I do?" His eyes were watery when he finally spotted it: the Floo powder.  
  
He rushed over to the fireplace and threw a handful into the flames, calling out ' _Spinner's End_ ' as loudly and as fiercely as he could. Screw the repercussions.

  
_The weakness in me.  
_

_Betrayed him, haven't you?_ a weaseling voice said, malicious amusement more than overtly present. It sounded sickeningly like Peter Pettigrew. Harry clapped his hands over his ears and shook his head violently. Malfoy had said not to mention Snape around him. He hadn't. Malfoy had been unconscious. He had obeyed. Pettigrew may know betrayal, but he did not know Harry.  
  
Harry would never harm Malfoy.  
  
 _We are more alike than I suspected, Potter. A true monster can always justify his actions_ , Voldemort's sneering voice hissed and dark laughter echoed inside his head.  
  
"I'm not like you!" Harry bellowed, shaking his head more viciously just as the flames in the grate rose higher and a shadowy figure appeared. A haughty, hook-nosed, impatient former professor stepped onto the hearth with a cautionary glance at his surroundings. He spotted Harry first.  
  
"Potter," he barked, looking down at him with a malevolent grin. "What is the meaning of this?"  
  
Harry lowered his gaze to the patterned carpet at his feet, feeling every inch the chastised child, and mumbled incoherently, pointing at Malfoy. It was a conditioned response, he realized. A cowed reaction to anyone he perceived to be more powerful. And who wasn't more powerful than the pitiful and beaten Harry Potter?  
  
But Malfoy was the exception, as always. He didn't want Harry's submission, he wanted Harry to heal on his own. It was impossible, Harry knew, but he appreciated Malfoy all the same. And now, of the two things Malfoy had asked of him, Harry had disobeyed one. He felt less than worthless.  
  
Snape sneered at him and his woeful attempts at speaking before he followed the direction of Harry's outstretched hand. In an instant, Snape's eyes went wide and he gasped, "Draco."  
  
"What's happened?" he growled at Harry without looking at him while he knelt at Malfoy's side, assessing his wounds.  
  
Harry opened his mouth, an embarrassing squeaky sound emanating from it. Snape looked downright murderous.  
  
He bit down on whatever spiteful insult he had brewing when Malfoy's eyelids fluttered and hands clutched at him. "Draco," he prompted.  
  
"Severus," Malfoy rasped weakly, blood that had pooled at the corner of his mouth dripped down and caressed his chin with the movement of his lips.  
  
Snape shot a cautious glance at Harry before he leaned down next to Malfoy and whispered so quietly that Harry had to strain to hear, "It's not what you think."  
  
Malfoy's eyes closed and he nodded once, looking as if it pained him to do so, though whether that was from Snape's words or his injuries, Harry wasn't sure.  
  
Snape cast a succinct _Mobilicorpus_ , using the momentum to lift Malfoy into his arms before he stepped back towards the Floo.  
  
"Wait," Harry cried in panic, a separate part of him unable to ignore how carefully, and familiarly, Snape was cradling Malfoy.  
  
Snape half-turned toward him with his lip raised in dislike.  
  
"Where are you taking him?" Harry quested desperately.  
  
Snape sneered. "You do not have the proper trappings to deal with his wounds." And though the words were simple truth and related to the lack of potions and the like within the manor, Harry felt the tone of them cut at him, his shame over his own lack of magic reddening his cheeks. Snape's voice was self-satisfied when he spoke again, obviously having achieved his intent with his last proclamation. "I will have him back to you within the hour."  
  
"But—" Harry started as Snape stepped foot into the flame. He needed to know more of Malfoy's condition and, more importantly, if he would survive, his own embarrassment before this man be damned.  
  
"One hour, Potter," Snape spat, slicing through Harry's unvoiced concerns, his words whooshing with him as the fire swirled about him and Malfoy's limp, albeit cradled, form.  
  
Harry sank to his knees, the emotional toll of Snape's visit fully appreciated. He would never be strong enough or smart enough for Malfoy. His magic was gone, most likely irreparably, and he couldn't manipulate conversation as Snape just had. He simply wasn't good enough. Wasn't in Malfoy's league.  
  
Harry had never felt so weak, so impotent. He was a failure, pure and simple. Even if Malfoy were attracted to him – and how could he be? Harry had given up, why should he expect Malfoy to drown with him? – Harry wouldn't have deserved his interest.  
  
He buried his face in the carpet as he sat on his knees, turning his head to the side, his cheek pressed flat against the rug, the pattern being indented into his skin while he watched Eve. She was still ill-formed, looking like a puppy with an extra limb growing out of its back. She whined when she saw Harry looking at her.  
  
Harry wished he could comfort her or, better yet, fix her. But he knew Eve would not let him near her. She did not like when Harry attempted to touch her – not that he did this often – and more than kept her distance when they were left alone.  
  
What felt like hours passed in absolute silence and Harry got caught in a whirlpool of his own making, fear and self-pity dragging him down into the roaring funnel where a healthy dose of self-hatred was waiting for him, as the sorrier he felt for himself, the more he despised himself. He didn't deserve sympathy, not even his own. It felt like days later when he finally hit bottom—torrents of mismatching sentiments being swifted about him, deafening his senses—where he finally allowed his weakest and most hated emotion to overtake him.  
  
The emotion causing his heart to constrict and his throat to close up. Jealousy.  
  
He had no right to it, no claim to Malfoy, didn't even _deserve_ claim to him, but all he could think was that Malfoy was alone with Snape, and had been for what felt like weeks now. Malfoy was with Snape, and he was staying, he was going to forget all about Harry, or send him back to You Know Who – thanks, but no thanks – and Harry would be all alone in his cell again, beaten and raped and Malfoy-less. Imprisoned once again.  
  
He allowed his memories of that cell to cloud his vision, the abuses he had witnessed Malfoy suffering co-mingling with his own, reliving each scene so violently that all his hope trickled out of him like sand through his fingers.  
  
"Pathetic, Potter," a sharp voice spat and Harry's head snapped up at the sound, his eyes red-rimmed not from tears but from where they had rubbed against the carpet. The commanding form of Severus Snape was towering over him imposingly, Malfoy's arm thrown over one of his shoulders while he half-stood, half-leaned on the man.  
  
Harry scrambled to his feet, every muscle feeling stiff, and he wondered exactly how long he had been lying on the floor. He felt an excited, 'Malfoy!' bubbling up in his gullet but he clamped it down. Malfoy hardly looked sentient after all.  
  
But he had come back, and Harry's heart was swelling to at least six times its normal size as that thought paraded back and forth through his head.  
  
Snape motioned towards him and Harry took Malfoy's other arm around his shoulders carefully, letting the his head loll against his neck, trying to ignore the heat that crept into his belly as Malfoy's uneven and harsh breathing ghosted over his earlobe. Snape helped Malfoy settle his weight against Harry and he clipped without looking at him, "Take him upstairs, he needs rest," while he rubbed Malfoy's cheek with his knuckles, encouraging him to open his eyes and looking as if he was purposefully avoiding being amorous by not using his palm in front of Harry. Malfoy opened his eyes, blinking uncoordinatedly a few times, and Snape said in a guarded yet concerned tone, "It would be best if you didn't respond to any summons for at least a few nights."  
  
Malfoy sneered at him, though it looked weak, and tore in venomously, "As if I have much choice in the matter, B—" He stopped speaking abruptly, looking almost… frightened?  
  
Snape's eyes widened in what looked like shock but it swiftly smoothed into distaste. "Bastard, am I?" he finished for Malfoy coldly. "You know how I felt about my father, Draco. I would have much preferred it," he hissed.  
  
Malfoy looked down at his shoes, his weight shifting against Harry uncomfortably. He breathed in deeply. "I'm sorry, Severus."  
  
Snape's lip raised cruelly. "You always are. After." Malfoy's face colored, not in shame, but in anger. Bright red spots blooming high on his cheeks. Snape said calmly before Malfoy could retort, "Get some rest, Draco."  
  
Malfoy simply nodded his head and, before Harry could stop him, hefted his arm off of him and staggered his weight forward. He moved unsteadily but determinedly toward the stairs. Harry shifted on his feet uncertainly, biting his lip and stealing a glance at Snape. "Is—is there anything I should do?"  
  
Snape shook his head, his gaze seeming distant as it followed Malfoy's progress. "He might as well be dead," Snape spat suddenly, bitterly.  
  
The words were so unexpected, and the thoughts that followed so unwelcome, that Harry could only stand there stunned as Snape stepped back into the Floo and bellowed, "Spinner's End!"  
  
Harry shook himself out of his stupor as the flames died down and hurried to follow after Malfoy. There was obviously something more going on here. Something between Malfoy and Snape but Harry couldn't figure it out for the life of him.  
  
Malfoy had only made it to the fifth stair by the time Harry had caught up to him and grudgingly accepted Harry's shoulder when offered to him. They made it to Malfoy's bedroom without incident and Harry was helping to settle him into his sheets, trying and failing not to feel a thrill every time they touched, when he finally blurted, "What happened, you know, between you and…"  
  
He couldn't believe he'd done it. Malfoy had specifically asked him not to mention Snape and, even if he hadn't said the name, they both knew whom he'd meant.  
  
Malfoy stopped moving abruptly, his gaze hard when he looked back at Harry. "What, Potter?" he demanded icily. He was going to make Harry say it. He either had to blatantly break his word or stop now. Malfoy was giving him a chance to get out of this.  
  
Harry swallowed hard. But how could they get closer if Malfoy wouldn't _talk_ to him? "Between you and Snape, what happened?" Harry clarified boldly, his hands trembling where they rested on the bed.  
  
Malfoy's eyes narrowed but, in the next instant, they seemed to lose their focus and he threw his head back and… laughed. Harry drew back, surprised. Of all the reactions he had expected, this was not one that had even made the list.  
  
Malfoy snorted, looking slightly demented, and he said clearly, "Potter," in a way that demanded attention. Harry gave it to him.  
  
"Severus Snape is dead."

  
_Mirror images._

_“Severus Snape is dead.”_  
  
Malfoy had passed out directly after uttering those highly disturbing words, before Harry could even think to ask after them.  
  
 _“He might as well be dead.”_  
  
Harry sat in the library’s uncomfortably high-backed chair, the book with the unreadable title perched in his lap as he sat cross-legged on the upholstery, though it might as well have been thin air for all the attention Harry was paying it. He stared into the dwindling flames while Snape’s and Malfoy’s words chased themselves around his muddled brain.  
  
Obviously something had happened, something that had caused an even greater rift in the two men’s already rocky relationship. Malfoy must have meant ‘Severus Snape is dead _to me_.’ That made the most sense, after all, the man had been doped on potions and clearly exhausted when Harry had butted his nose in where it didn’t belong. The other implication was too impossible to even consider. Malfoy had simply been out of his mind at the moment, how else did one explain him pronouncing the death of a man that had been there only moments before?  
  
All that aside, Harry had broken his word, and for what? For a terrifying moment, when Malfoy had thrown his head back with that maniacal laugh, Harry had thought the question might have broken him. Broken his mind. That, perhaps, Malfoy had come to trust Harry, trust that he would respect his wishes and that even the thought of Harry breaking those wishes was too much for his fragile mind.  
  
Harry’s mouth twisted as his eyes followed the low dip of the bobbing flames, feeling disgusted with himself that he almost _preferred_ that scenario to the current, in which: nothing had changed. Malfoy wasn’t upset, nor vengeful, not even disappointed. Anything that might have shown some _expectation_ of Harry, some acknowledgement that he even existed and that Malfoy had hopes for him, some tiny give that showed that _maybe_ he cared, none of those things were true.  
  
Harry was a non-entity to him and, worse than that, he felt invisible when Malfoy looked _through_ him. There was nothing in the man’s gaze, no recognition, no desire, no future. And Harry hated Malfoy for that. His form of torture was so much worse than You Know Who’s, and it was one that Harry had brought entirely upon himself. He had allowed himself to feel something for someone that seemed to repel even the most basic of human emotion.  
  
Malfoy had told him, and there had been warnings every step of the way, even on their first night hadn’t Malfoy said that he wouldn’t be the one to save him? And yet, he had hinged his dreams on the man, attached his future to Malfoy’s – willingly, glued his self-worth to Malfoy’s view of him. To see what when he looked in the mirror, a person so inconsequential, so unworthy or remembrance, that he may well have been a ghost?  
  
Harry was jolted out of his thoughts by the shocking feel of something cool and almost liquid gliding against the tender inside of his palm. He pulled away with a shiver, expecting his hand to be wet with precipitation only to find it bone-dry and ice cold. He looked down to find Eve licking her paw in the form of a lion cub. She groomed back her ear with her slick mitt and fixed Harry with a stare, her head tilted to the side, and her seemingly sightless eyes pinched in curiosity.  
  
Harry felt as if he were locked in a battle of wills and he was already at a disadvantage, still off-kilter from the alarming sensation of Eve’s skin – he supposed you could call it that – pressed against his own. Surely Eve hadn’t touched him on purpose? Her dislike of him was notorious and when she wasn’t ignoring his presence entirely then she was stalking his every move, making him feel like a delinquent in his own safe haven.  
  
Eve stared unblinkingly at him, the silence in the library now downright eerie, before she broke the stillness and took a step toward Harry, her head inclined in an unmistakable demand to be touched. Eve wanted Harry to pet her? This had to be some sort of ploy to get his guard down. As Harry sat motionless, Eve became impatient and pressed her head against Harry’s knee to hurry him along.  
  
Not only was Harry wary of putting his hand anywhere near Eve for very personal reasons, revolving around the fact that before this moment she had shown him nothing but indifference or hostility, he was also a bit concerned with the fact that she made such a convincing lion. And one did not put any of their limbs near a lion without expecting to have one less limb to dangle before it, that was just common knowledge.  
  
However, Harry’s hesitation only served to make her more persistent and she was now rubbing her body against his legs in a way that demanded attention and Harry swallowed his fear, quite literally, and placed his hand on the top of her head, the feeling of being in an ice cube bath spreading up from his fingers. He swiped his hand from the backs of her ears down to her tail, once and then again and again, finding it amazing that while she looked like one solid outline of atramentous liquid, she had fur, strands of hair that separated where Harry could scratch behind her ears like a normal cat.  
  
Eve seemed to curl into the actions of his searching hands and Harry felt a calmness that was wholly unfamiliar steal over him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so at peace, or rather, he could, and he had been sure that he would never experience it again. That first night in Malfoy’s bed, that had been tranquil, had almost seemed to _mean_ something. But now it was all nothing of course, reduced to ashes in his hands, just like Diagon, just like the Ministry, just like hope.  
  
The hair on the back of Harry’s neck prickled and he looked up, still stroking Eve’s muzzle, only to find the source of all his conflicted feelings standing in the doorway to the library. For a moment, he wanted to say something cutting, something that might make Malfoy feel _anything_ at all, but the longer he looked, the less the urge persisted. His callous thoughts seemed to flood out of him and he was left only with a hollow pit of desolation in his gut.  
  
He slowly brought his gaze up to Malfoy’s and was surprised to find the man staring with a mixture of undisguised fascination and frank disbelief at Eve’s and Harry’s positions. It was the most deliberate reaction Harry had ever aroused, sans the day in the kitchen when Harry had mentioned the unmentionable, and he was amazed that a scrap of friendliness between he and Eve had produced it.  
  
Malfoy opened his mouth as if to say something but it snapped shut less than a second later and he seemed to become aware of Harry’s eyes on him. He drew himself up taller, bristled, and pushed his hair back behind his ear before scowling at Harry and striding off.  
  
Harry sighed, telling himself he shouldn’t place so much stock in Malfoy’s reactions to him even as he dearly wished that he hadn’t upset the man. Eve was personal to Malfoy, and Harry couldn’t help but feel closer to him by being closer to Eve. He didn’t want to have to break the fragile bond that had only just been formed.  
  
The day dragged on almost interminably slow and Harry did his best to avoid Malfoy at every turn, not to please his own wishes but, rather, Malfoy’s. If it were up to him then Malfoy would rarely be out of his sight but, as it was, he felt like an ugly family heirloom that was constantly being schlepped from room to room. Regardless of the change of scenery, he complemented nothing and stuck out like a sore thumb, making a mockery of all the objects that did belong there.  
  
It was with this mentality that he found himself sitting dead center in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, wishing Malfoy were sitting next to him, or even standing off to the side. He had run his hands over the many Malfoy brooms but was still too uncertain about the futures they yielded and could not bring himself to conquer the unknown.  
  
Instead, he luxuriated in the feel of the sun beating down on his pale skin and the wind brushing over his face. All the freedom he had been granted, the traveling privileges, and the life that had been gifted to him, and none of it meant anything. Malfoy colored all of it. Without him, there was no point. Who would want travel when the one person they wanted to see was right here, or freedom when the man they cared for was still trapped, or life without the man that made it worth living?  
  
What would Harry be without Malfoy? A mindless, degraded slave of You Know Who’s with his will to live long since destroyed. He didn’t even know what had become of the people who had once meant so much to him, and what if they were all dead? Then Malfoy would define him, and there would be no Harry Potter without Draco Malfoy. And Malfoy didn’t even want him, and had made no pretense otherwise.  
  
 _“I didn’t want this, I didn’t want you.”_  
  
Yes, Malfoy had warned him. Even that first night he had sent up flares, he had known enough to say exactly what he thought of Harry. He was damaged and he shouldn’t expect to be fixed by his hands. There was nothing there to love. If Malfoy even _could_ love, perhaps he was also impotent in emotion. Perhaps it wasn’t Harry, but Malfoy who was broken.  
  
Or maybe it was both of them. Or all of them. The war had made more than orphans, slaves, and corpses. It had broken men of their ability to feel. How much death and unpleasantness could one person witness before they became desensitized? And if Harry had seen his fair share, then why was Malfoy able to crush him with a single glance? Why was he immune to this infection of indifference?  
  
Because he was a freak, always different, always isolated, and the tiny sliver of Malfoy’s emotions that struggled for its very existence belonged to Snape. Perhaps that’s why Malfoy had declared him dead, because alive he was vulnerable to the man. Malfoy cared for Snape – as much it pained Harry to admit it, even to himself – and, therefore, Snape could hurt him. No wonder a part of Malfoy wished the man would breathe his last breath.  
  
Snape’s implication that there was another that owned Malfoy’s heart seemed more and more mythical as time wore on and Harry witnessed more glimpses into Malfoy’s soul.  
  
 _“You know I am not what you want.”_  
  
Perhaps Snape had simply meant that he knew that Malfoy wanted nothing at all, that he was cold, near dead inside. Isn’t that what he had said? ‘ _He might as well be dead_.’ Harry was understanding Snape’s meaning with greater clarity as each day passed.  
  
And what could Harry offer to a man that had no wants? Exactly what Malfoy gave him: nothing. Dusk settled over the pitch, bringing with it a bone-chilling coolness that had Harry wearily dragging himself inside and up the stairs to his bedroom. Malfoy’s door across the hall was either closed from the morning or closed anew, Harry didn’t know which. He pulled himself into bed, not bothering to close his own door after him, and buried his face in his pillow.  
  
Something cool brushed the back of Harry’s neck and he lifted his head quickly, thinking but not daring to hope that it might be… Eve was staring back at him, sitting up on her hind legs with her paws out in front of her and her tongue hanging out of her mouth, begging in the form of a runty puppy.  
  
Harry smiled bitterly, disappointment creasing his brow, and scratched behind her ears as he sat up. Eve settled herself against his thigh and turned over onto her back so he could rub her belly. She really was a comfort and Harry found himself glad of her company, having felt more alone in this mansion during the past couple days than he had ever felt in his life.  
  
He liked the feeling of closeness she brought, not only to her, but to Malfoy. The one being Malfoy was so intimately connected with and she didn’t despise him, the one mind on this planet that mirrored his in every way and she desired to be close to him.  
  
Harry’s back went ramrod straight as he realized the implications of his thought, as he realized what had been there to be realized all along. Malfoy’s genuinely startled face in the library flashed across his mind and Harry gasped. Eve was empathic, everything Malfoy felt she displayed like a faithful parallel. It wasn’t Eve’s curiosity, or Eve’s closeness, or Eve’s desires – they were Malfoy’s.  
  
Despite the distance that had been nearly palpable between them, Malfoy felt closer to him, close enough to feel comfortable if Eve’s easy presence around him was any indication. And he laughed, realizing it was! Perhaps Malfoy didn’t feel for Harry what Harry felt for him, but he felt _something_. Something that had made Eve want to seek him out, something that had brought her to his bed tonight.  
  
Even as he thought it, Eve leapt down from his mattress onto the floor and stalked out into the hall. Harry scrambled to the door and watched her glide across the landing to slip inside Malfoy’s, now cracked, door.  
  
Harry took a deep breath, resolved himself, and followed.

  
_Order imposed._

Harry tiptoed into Malfoy's room, shouldering the door open with a cringe as a tinny creak of the hinges gave him away. However, as he got his first look into the room, he almost thought the noise had been in his head. Malfoy was standing in front of his nightstand, entirely unperturbed.  
  
Casting off the overwhelming desire not to disrupt the stillness of the room, Harry cleared his throat before involuntarily shrinking back, expecting Malfoy to rail at him or at least chastise him for being in his room without permission. But, yet again, Malfoy made no move, refusing to acknowledge him.  
  
Harry’s heart sank as he began to realize his presence for the mistake it was. He shouldn’t be there. Hadn’t Malfoy made it clear that very first night that Harry would never have any reason to be in his room? He felt something cool brush the backs of his fingertips as Eve leapt past him and landed cat-like on Malfoy’s bed. She curled up, her glowing silver eyes piercing him, and Harry felt a surge of courage race into the very ends of his toes.  
  
He opened his mouth just as Malfoy spoke, his words curt and his back stiff, “What did you expect to find here?”  
  
The words were like blows and Harry couldn’t help but fall back as they hit him. Maybe he had been wrong and Eve could deviate from Malfoy? He shot a quick look at the seemingly sightless ball of silver to find her almost-encouraging position unchanged. Harry took a deep breath and swallowed down his doubts. It was time to stop being terrified of his own shadow. He dropped his hand atop Eve’s head, the tigress leaning into the action, and said confidently, “She can’t lie nearly as well as you can.”  
  
Malfoy turned and Harry got his first good look at him since he’d returned from his night abroad. His face was ashen and his hands were shaking where they were clutched around his shirt. “Go to bed, Potter,” Malfoy said hoarsely, his eyes pleading.  
  
Harry’s gaze softened and he took a step toward him, curbing his impulse to throw his arms around him. Instead, he said in a calm tone, “What do you think I came here for?”  
  
Malfoy shook his head, his unflappable stoicism returning. He seemed to straighten up even though he hadn’t moved before he tossed a shock of white-blond hair behind his ear. “Something impossible,” he answered succinctly, turning away from Harry once more.  
  
But Harry wasn’t about to give up, not when he’d come this far. He took another step toward Malfoy, close enough to feel his body heat now, and he said quietly, “It doesn’t have to be.”  
  
Malfoy faced him and growled, “Perhaps I want it to be.”  
  
Harry placed his hands on Malfoy’s forearms and pulled him closer so that their foreheads were nearly touching. He could see the desperation and uncertainty in Malfoy’s quicksilver eyes from this close. Somehow it helped knowing that Malfoy was just as afraid as he was.  
  
Their chests were touching now, their foreheads resting against each other’s, and Harry’s hands had slid up Malfoy’s forearms to lace behind his neck. “Do you?” he finally breathed lustily, unable to help his own inflection.  
  
He couldn’t remember ever being this close to Malfoy and the very act was leaving him more breathless than a hundred laps around the Quidditch pitch. He had never wanted anything as much as he wanted to close the distance between them and feel his lips pressed to Malfoy’s.  
  
Malfoy wrenched his eyes away from Harry’s longing stare and hissed, “Yes,” the ‘s’ drawn out and sibilant, leaving the released air to tickle Harry’s lips. Harry couldn’t help the low groan that was pulled from him and, despite the renewed coldness in Malfoy’s glare, he leaned closer to him, intending to steal a kiss from those judgmental lips.  
  
Harry was closing the distance, he could feel Malfoy’s labored, panicked breaths against his mouth, as well as the hands that were digging into the hollows of his elbows, when a loud, “Draco!” screeched up the stairs, halting between them and shocking Malfoy out of his trance, giving him the opportunity to extract himself from Harry’s grip.  
  
Malfoy’s chest was heaving and he shot a guarded, slightly disbelieving glare at Harry before fastening his gaze on the doorway. Harry’s stomach dropped to the floor and he could only gaze longingly at Malfoy as he barked, not looking at him, “Stay here,” and left the room.  
  
Harry dropped onto Malfoy’s bed, his head in his hands and his palms pushed hard against his eyes under his glasses. He sniffed and felt Eve rest her head against his thigh. The tears were leaking out despite how tight he had his hands suctioned to his face. Even when You Know Who was raping him, Harry had never felt this helpless.  
  
His breaths were still coming in sharp gasps, feeling like shards of ice-cold glass plunging into his chest, when he finally pulled himself up from the bed, refusing to succumb to his misery. He left Malfoy’s bedroom, pausing at the top of the stairs on the landing, only just remembering what had broken them apart.  
  
Someone had called Malfoy’s name, someone female.  
  
Harry crept down the stairs as quietly as possible, stopping when the backs of two figures came into view. He plopped down on the middle step and stared hard into the foyer, straining his ears. He recognized Malfoy immediately but the other, definitely a woman, was completely unfamiliar.  
  
She had incredibly long, sleek raven hair that stopped mid-thigh and a refined accent that sounded slightly Middle Eastern. “We had no choice,” she was saying, her tone hard.  
  
Malfoy matched it easily, snarling, “You still should not have come here. What if _he_ appears on one of those whims of his? Your idiocy knows no bounds, Serena.”  
  
The woman shifted closer to Malfoy and answered, sounding almost amused, “Just following your example, my fearless leader.”  
  
Malfoy made an indignant sound but he, too, seemed to have lost his anger and was finding more humor than anything else in the situation. He was spared having to respond, however, as the fireplace roared to life and a shabby-looking wizard stumbled out of it. Harry barely had time to catalogue his features, lean, watery-eyed, straw-colored hair, before another wizard had appeared behind him.  
  
Unfamiliar face after unfamiliar face surged out of the grate and the woman received them all with a slight bow of her head while Malfoy’s stiff posture revealed nothing. A total of nine wizards and two witches had poured out of the fireplace before Malfoy led them into what Harry could only assume would be the dining room.  
  
He crawled down from his middle step to the very bottom stair and peeked his head around the corner. The rest of the congregation, sans Malfoy and the original woman, Serena, were seated around the table, some of them with ruddy-faces, some of them with bleary eyes, some of them with patched robes. The only thing that was unanimous throughout them all, Malfoy and the woman included, was exhaustion.  
  
Harry could see the woman’s face now and saw that she was both beautiful, though not conventionally, and exotic looking. Her blue eyes were slightly slitted, her skin was dark, her nose was pointed, and she had thin lips that seemed to match the rest of her face. Harry was oddly fascinated by her.  
  
She touched Malfoy’s elbow and leaned forward to whisper something in his ear before taking her seat at the opposite end of the table. Harry found he didn’t like her very much.  
  
Malfoy cleared his throat and turned to the man nearest him, Harry recognized him as the man with straw-colored hair who had fallen out of the fireplace first. “Explain, Junius,” Malfoy demanded, his cold eyes calculating.  
  
“We overestimated our pull,” the man said, his voice fading in and out tiredly. He rubbed his palm over his mouth before continuing. “The locals have no love of the Order and without their support we cannot hope to break Erebus.”  
  
Malfoy seemed to absorb this and asked sharply, “And how many of ours are imprisoned there?”  
  
A pudgy woman with a tangled knot of hair perched atop her head sitting near the middle of the table piped up in a shrill voice, “Assuming survival, anywhere from five to seven.”  
  
Malfoy perked an eyebrow at the guesstimate and Serena, who was watching the progression with hawk-like eyes, clarified, “We can’t be certain who was taken to Erebus and who was simply murdered outright.”  
  
Harry pulled back behind the wall, his mind racing. This Erebus was clearly a wizarding prison of some sort or maybe just a death camp, like Azkaban but worse. And this – these people – they were… the Order?  
  
Harry poked his head back around the corner and confirmed what he already knew, bile rising in his throat. He didn’t recognize a single one of them.  
  
His eyes were burning but he forced himself to listen. Serena was saying in her hardened voice, “We cannot risk it.”  
  
Malfoy was standing impassive, watching her declaration play out across the table. The pudgy woman seemed to inflate as she screeched, “Surely you can’t be serious! My husband—” But a man with a very bushy beard near Malfoy’s end croaked over her, “I will not leave Jensen there for those Acies to convert him!”  
  
This pronouncement was met with great, and very loud, agreement from the rest of the group as they each struggled to speak over one another and make their points heard. At least until Malfoy’s cutting voice stopped all noise in its tracks. “Enough!” he demanded icily. “We do not have the resources. Hurl your righteous indignation at my decision in private, burn me in effigy, whatever you feel you must do, but I refuse to approve mass suicide just so you can sleep at night.”  
  
Malfoy’s words were met with silence. The man with the straw-colored hair and the one with the bushy beard looked deeply ashamed, Serena was smirking approvingly at Malfoy and the rest of them seemed to have been cowed into submission, sans the pudgy woman. She, alone, among them remained livid.  
  
She glared at Malfoy challengingly and spat, “Things in Remus’ day would have been different, he was not a terrified little coward who was paralyzed by the loss of his pedophilic, disgust—”  
  
She was silenced as Malfoy flicked his wand and a dark red mark appeared across the woman’s cheek and mouth with the sound of a resonant smack. Malfoy’s eyes had narrowed to slits, making he and Serena seem almost related, and he was breathing hard, his normally pale face alive with angry patches of red. Malfoy’s voice was a low rumble. “If you would like to join Remus, Amira, that can be arranged, I assure you.”  
  
The woman sank back in her seat, swiping at her bloody lip, but none of the malice had left her face. Malfoy sneered at her coldly. “I thought not.”  
  
The meeting carried on in subdued silence and only lasted a few moments longer as everyone seemed anxious to escape the palpable tension. Malfoy dismissed them and Serena led them back to the foyer.  
  
They disappeared one by one into the flames, some of them bidding Malfoy goodnight and shaking his hand (the pudgy woman not among them). Serena was the last to leave, only pausing long enough to give Malfoy a swift hug before she too was gone, leaving them alone once again.  
  
Malfoy exhaled heavily and carded a hand through his silver-blond locks, staring at the orange flames for a moment before turning towards the stairs. It took a moment for his unfocused eyes to spot Harry but, once they had, he stopped dead in his tracks. Harry sniffled, not caring if he was in trouble for listening in or if Malfoy hated him now.  
  
But, to his immense surprise, Malfoy only sighed and sat down next to him on the bottom stair. Harry sniffed harder and turned his face into Malfoy’s shoulder. He was shocked to feel Malfoy’s arm settle over his back and pull him closer into a comforting embrace.  
  
Harry’s tears poured silently onto Malfoy’s shirt as Malfoy resituated Harry’s head against his chest. They sat like that until Harry lost track of time and finally whimpered, “They’re a-all – everyone I know, _loved_ … they’re dead, aren’t they? Remus – he—I didn’t recognize _any_ of them.”  
  
Malfoy didn’t answer, just held him tighter while Harry clung to him and cried his eyes out. He was unable to stop himself from imagining those horrid, flesh-eating creatures feasting upon Ron and Hermione.

  
_F i g h t._

Drying tears streaked Harry’s cheeks as he stared unseeingly ahead of him, Malfoy a reassuring weight at his side. Despite his icy exterior, he was radiating an undeniable and surprising warmth that Harry wanted nothing more than to bury into. He pursed his lips tightly as his thoughts swirled and clashed with one another in a maelstrom of disappointment, anger, and regret.  
  
His voice was beaten and hoarse when he finally managed to ask the question that seemed as if had been on the tip of his tongue for an eternity. “How did it happen?”  
  
Malfoy didn’t look at him but down at his own clasped hands. His eyes were unfocused and his words blank and emotionless. “Glacially, as do all lasting changes, Potter.”  
  
Harry’s worries and fears stuttered to a halt in confusion. He turned a searching gaze on the man at his side and said quietly, “That’s not what I meant.”  
  
Malfoy nodded and said heavily, “I know what you meant and you don’t need your loved ones’ dying moments in your head.” Malfoy stood with purpose, looking every bit the aristocrat he’d been raised to be: elegant, statuesque, and unfeeling.  
  
He looked down at Harry on the bottom stair and his eyes softened tenderly for a moment, belying his humanity. Harry couldn’t help but think how beautiful and precious those moments were, when Malfoy was real and actually _there_ with him. “Remember them as they were alive, Potter. That’s the best way to honor them.”  
  
Malfoy nodded shortly and had just turned away when Harry scrambled to his feet and grabbed him by the elbow. “Malfoy,” he said lowly as he swiped at his eyes with the back of his wrist. Malfoy turned to face him serenely, his features impassive as he awaited Harry’s next words. Harry swallowed and stared down at his shoes as he cleared his throat nervously. “What happened to you?”  
  
He looked up to see slight surprise on Malfoy’s face. The man perked a blond brow and asked with plain curiosity, “What makes you think something’s happened to me?”  
  
Harry fidgeted a bit, but he had decided to do this, to risk Malfoy’s anger or disappointment or, dear Merlin, even hatred. He had wanted to know – needed to know – why he was like this. He had made his bed and he wasn’t about to call it a night now. “You seem…” he started uncomfortably.  
  
“What?” Malfoy prompted, a dangerous glint to his sparklingly arctic grey eyes. “What do I seem?”  
  
Harry’s resolve faltered but Malfoy’s gaze seemed to rivet him to the spot so he couldn’t flee. “Gone,” he heaved out finally. “You’re here but you’re not here.” Harry boldly met Malfoy’s gaze. “Why?”  
  
Malfoy’s stare didn’t falter, nor did he seem pinned by Harry’s question. He looked just as deadpan as he ever had and, as the seconds ticked by, Harry became sure he wouldn’t answer. Until finally, his words said with a distant, untouchable quality, he admitted, “Perhaps I’ve finally come to terms with my own insignificance, Potter.” Malfoy smiled at him, the saddest smile Harry had ever seen. “Not much seems to matter anymore.”  
  
Harry felt broken by the assertion and his voice cracked as he demanded, “Why?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Malfoy said slowly. He straightened his shoulders and Harry’s hand fell from his arm. “And I don’t care to find out.” He gave Harry an appraising glance before turning on his heel and starting up the stairs.  
  
He had only made it a few feet closer to his rooms when Harry tugged him back around by his hand and blurted breathlessly, “You matter. To me, you matter.”  
  
Malfoy gave him a knowing smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Because I’m all you know.”  
  
Harry felt a thick despair rise in his breast at the notion that Malfoy thought his feelings were just a matter of convenience. “You act as if you’re just waiting to die, Malfoy,” Harry accused desolately, wishing he were the man to make Malfoy see that life was still worth living.  
  
Malfoy’s lips quirked and he whispered soberly and indulgently, “Something like that.” He extricated his hand from Harry’s grip, saying quietly, “Goodnight, Potter,” before walking away, as he always did.

* * *

Harry was far from well rested when he dragged himself through the manor the next morning. It didn’t take him long to realize he was alone, the absence of Malfoy almost like a tangible presence of its own. He drifted over to a sun-warmed patch of carpet on the landing, the heat of the day a paltry comfort compared to the one he’d received the night before but likely all he would get. A house-elf popped up a moment later with tea and a crumpet and Harry partook of both as its tennis ball sized eyes watched him unblinkingly.  
  
He offered it a cringing, encouraging smile and the thing beamed at him before bounding off. He munched idly at the flaky bread as he gazed dreamily out the window, imagining a world where he was brave enough to break open the broom shed and soar above the manor, despite the fact that he had never felt heavier than he did now. His friends were dead, what was left for him but a taciturn man that wanted nothing to do with him and a freedom he didn’t want or deserve?  
  
It was as he was lost in these despairing thoughts that he recognized a slight figure standing on the edge of the pitch. His heart clamored in his chest as Malfoy’s bright blond hair winked up at him in the sunlight and it was almost embarrassing how quickly he found himself walking through the manor garden to meet him. And while the night before had provided him with Malfoy’s usual and unflappable stoicism, it had also offered him the feel of his arms wrapped around Harry’s shoulders as he held him selflessly.  
  
And that was worth running to.  
  
Malfoy was standing with his back to him, focused on something before him, which Harry quickly realized was Eve. The sun was glinting off her fur so powerfully that Harry was surprised Malfoy didn’t have to shield his eyes as Eve twisted into a cantering thestral. Malfoy followed her with bobbing eyes and Harry caught his gaze in profile, softer and warmer than he had ever seen it. He wondered what it would feel like to have that expression directed towards him and tried to bury the sharp stab of jealousy he felt as he watched Malfoy watch Eve.  
  
It seemed as if she were there only to soak up all the affection Malfoy had left and Harry found himself wondering how he could compete with her. He had tried unfaltering obedience as he attempted to make himself as unassuming as possible but Malfoy hadn’t seemed interested in any of it. Harry sighed and was unsurprised that Malfoy still hadn’t noticed him. He was inconsequential, a trivial detail in Malfoy’s unlived life, a near invisible blemish in a hall of painted mirrors.  
  
He could feel Malfoy throughout an entire mansion but that feeling was obviously not returned.  
  
Eve fwapped her wings and stayed low to the ground as she came to rest in front of Malfoy. He clucked his tongue and encouraged challengingly, “That’s all you’ve got, little one? Go on, Sureves, dazzle me.”  
  
Eve reared back on her hind legs, the horse-like creature whinnying, as its distinct outline began to blur and expand. Harry’s mouth went slack with awe and he took an unintentional step back as, in the next moment, Eve began to grow exponentially. She was taking on car lengths at a time as she propelled herself up, up, up until she was so tall that Harry no longer had to shield his eyes as she had blocked out the entire sun. Atramentous silver seemed to swell around them as her form rippled, expanded, and kicked out wider and wider.  
  
Limbs sprouted from somewhere near what would have been her midsection in the gigantic mass of silver and she dropped down on them as legs broke free from the back of her, which Harry noticed was followed by a _massive_ and deadly tail. Her neck extended further and further as eyes, teeth, nostrils, and ears began to form. Her maw dropped open and she roared loud enough for all the world to hear while huge wings unfurled from her back. She took a step forward as she unleashed her primal bellow in the shape of a terrifying, sightless, magnificently colossal dragon, the size of which Harry had never even imagined before.  
  
The sound finally ceased and all that was left was a slight, rhythmic pat that Harry realized after a moment was Malfoy clapping. He smiled up at her and announced, “Very impressive, girl. I do believe you win it.”  
  
She craned her neck closer to him and Harry’s first instinct was to tackle Malfoy to the ground but Malfoy only reached out and rubbed her snout while she nuzzled against him, a rumble emanating from her that Harry thought might be a dragon’s version of a purr. The moment was oddly touching.  
  
Eve dropped down and extended her wing towards Malfoy expectantly. Malfoy walked closer to her middle, trailing his hand down her seemingly unending neck as he went, until he reached the place where wing met back. And, to Harry’s complete astonishment, he ducked underneath easily, grabbed the joint with his left hand, placed his foot on some unseen catch in the wing, and swung himself over her shoulders as though he got on a dragon’s back every day.  
  
Harry’s jaw dropped in amazement as Malfoy leaned down to pat her neck, grinning. He straightened up and his entire posture stiffened as he spotted Harry. “Potter,” Malfoy said calmly after he took a moment to regain himself. Harry could only stare. “Well?” He indicated Eve’s still outstretched wing. “We don’t have all day.”  
  
Harry gaped at him. _Did he mean—?_  
  
“Come on then, Potter.”  
  
Harry startled himself out of his daze and jerkily made his way over to Eve’s side, giving her head and razor-sharp fangs a wide berth. He skirted the entire span of the wing and his eyes widened as Malfoy held out a hand to him. He looked uncertainly at the smooth and foothold-less dragon.  
  
“Give me your right hand, Potter,” Malfoy said somewhat kindly and Harry did so willingly. “With your left, grab her wingjoint.” Gingerly, Harry reached out his hand and, after a few false starts where Harry had to pull his fingers away for either fear or the bone deep iciness of Eve’s rippling skin, he managed to get a good grip on it. Malfoy nodded approvingly and instructed, “Place your foot on the second bone down from the top.”  
  
Harry looked up uneasily at him and Malfoy rolled his eyes, thankfully seeming more amused than exasperated. “Trust me, Potter. As tough as she looks, she’s a _lot_ tougher. It’s sturdy.”  
  
Harry had stopped listening after ‘trust me’ and nodded slowly. He swallowed heavily and put his foot where Malfoy had indicated. “You push, I’ll pull,” Malfoy said. Harry nodded again and in a matter of seconds he was sitting directly behind Malfoy, his body immediately engulfed in a freezing cold and glad to have an excuse to shift closer to the warmth of Malfoy’s.  
  
Malfoy didn’t comment except to say, “Hold on tight,” and Harry gladly did so. Malfoy leaned down against Eve’s neck, wrapping his arms as far as they would go around it as he said, “Okay, girl.”  
  
Eve’s wings began beating furiously and soon Harry was watching the world fall away as they climbed higher and higher. He pulled himself closer to Malfoy’s back until he was pressed flush against it and able to bury his face in his robes with his eyes scrunched tight.  
  
He felt Malfoy’s position shift and he squinted just enough to see Malfoy’s arms stretched wide on either side of him and his head thrown back as the wind rushed past them.  
  
“Malfoy! Hold on, you’ll fall!” Harry squawked in absolute terror before squeezing his eyes shut again as Eve dipped a bit and her smooth body transferred her weight to her right side. He grasped Malfoy’s arms, trying to pull them down by his sides but Malfoy only laughed and turned towards him.  
  
“Trust her,” he bellowed, his hair whipping about wildly, making him look angelic yet somehow fierce. “Let go!”  
  
Harry’s eyes peeked open in disbelief and he shook his head emphatically, looking a bit stupid, while he stared at the man before him in stunned reverence, the wind striking his face harshly. He threw his forearm over his eyes as Eve gave an upsetting lurch and her beating wings jostled his balance.  
  
Harry nearly shocked himself out of the saddle when Malfoy’s warm breath ghosted over his ear and his voice whispered, seeming almost saddened, “Open your eyes, Potter, you’re missing it.”  
  
Slowly Harry managed to open his eyes only to find that Malfoy was right. He looked down to see that Eve had dropped nearly low enough to land and was skimming across the top of a river, the water sparkling up at them and the waves rocking against each other as fish jumped out at their sides. Harry found himself grinning so wide that it hurt his cheeks. He laughed with complete and utter abandon as he stretched out his arms on either side of him and let the wind blow through his hair.  
  
He had never felt so free.  
  
“Hold on to me,” Malfoy cried suddenly. “And grip tight with your knees!” Harry did as he was told and no sooner was the task completed than Eve shot upward and performed a barrel roll in mid-air.  
  
Malfoy gave a whooping yell and Eve took that as encouragement to do it again, Harry’s stomach somersaulting with her. “This is amazing!” Harry screamed against the wind, his voice rough and jumpy with excitement.  
  
“Wait for it,” Malfoy shouted back and Eve’s wings closed in tighter to her body as she gave a straight shot down. “Eyes open, Potter,” he roared as Eve dove.  
  
The ground was coming on faster and faster but fear had left Harry long ago and all he could feel was a reckless and boundless exhilaration as they plummeted at breakneck speed back toward earth, his eyes wide open. He gripped painfully tight to Malfoy’s midsection and was filled with a swooping feeling as Eve pulled out of the dive at the last second and rocketed upward.  
  
She lazily spiraled higher and Harry rested his chin on Malfoy’s shoulder contentedly. “Thank you for this,” he exhaled in the other man’s ear.  
  
Malfoy half-turned and gave him a radiant, yet winded smile. And Harry couldn’t help but wonder if the swooping feeling and somersaults in his stomach had ever come from Eve’s antics at all or if it had simply been because of the man he’d experienced them with.  
  
He nuzzled closer to Malfoy’s warmth, his stomach giving a slow roll.  
  
He knew in that moment that he could spend the rest of his life like this. Free, with Malfoy.

* * *

Harry slid down Eve’s back with ease, feeling light and almost giddy, with none of the nerves or anxiety that had limited his gracefulness earlier. He turned to hold out his hand to Malfoy, his heart in his throat, but Eve had already turned around, nudged Malfoy’s cheek, and snatched the back of his robes with her teeth, setting him down on the ground herself.  
  
She looked exhausted, her head dropping wearily to the grass and her gaze heavy-lidded. In the blink of an eye she was nothing more than a tiny lion cub lying in the middle of the pitch. Malfoy smiled tiredly and started walking over to her when Harry fell into step with him. “Thank you for today, Malfoy,” he said quietly with heartfelt gratitude, his gaze likely full of longing.  
  
Malfoy stopped abruptly and turned to face him with his aloof mask in place. “Don’t make it into something it wasn’t, Potter.”  
  
Harry froze instantly. It would have been less cruel if Malfoy had simply plunged his hand into his chest and ripped out his heart. He couldn’t seem to do anything right, he wasn’t supposed to mourn his friends, he wasn’t supposed to fear You Know Who, and he wasn’t supposed to appreciate all Malfoy had done for him. It was almost as if Malfoy had forgotten his humanity and now he was trying to stomp it out of Harry, too.  
  
Harry caught up with him, unable to look at the cold set of his jaw, and questioned quietly, “What do you want from me?”  
  
Malfoy didn’t even bother to face him as he informed him emotionlessly, “I don’t want anything from you, Potter. Do as you wish.”  
  
Harry could feel hot, desperate tears building in his eyes as he whirled on Malfoy and grabbed the elbow of his robes. He pulled until Malfoy was facing him and croaked, “What do you _want_ from me? Please. Just tell me what you want, what am I supposed to do?”  
  
Malfoy looked away from him and it was all Harry could do to keep from sinking to his knees in desolation. “Fight,” he said finally. “I want you to fight like _you_ , Harry Potter, were born to fight. I want you to _want_ to fight.”  
  
Harry stared up at him in incomprehension, biting his lip. He had never heard Malfoy so vehement about anything.  
  
Malfoy’s gaze was pained as he continued. “The man you were before all this, he would never have thought to use this mansion as a sanctuary. He would be planning his next move, gathering weapons, building up a resistance.”  
  
“And that’s what you expected?” he said uncertainly, a touch of injustice in his tone.  
  
“I had no expectations of you,” Malfoy answered flatly. “I had assumed you dead long ago.”  
  
Harry hung his head and he couldn’t help but wonder why Malfoy hadn’t simply said as much before. He must’ve known Harry would do anything he asked of him.  Even without what he felt for Malfoy, he was still indebted to him.  
  
 _‘I want you to_ want _to fight.’_  
  
“You don’t want me to do this… for you,” Harry announced in quiet comprehension.  
  
Malfoy gave him a weak half-smile. “What you feel for me isn’t real, Potter. Just misplaced gratitude, nothing more. You’ll find that out soon enough.”  
  
“‘Misplaced—’” Harry parroted back with a slightly unhinged laugh. That’s what Malfoy thought of him? After all of this, Malfoy thought everything he was feeling could be chalked up to ‘ _misplaced gratitude_ ’?  
  
Disbelief and anger surged from the very tips of Harry’s fingers to the ends of his toes as he tried to impress upon Malfoy exactly how _real_ this was. “Malfoy,” he said, his voice hoarse. “This isn’t – you’ve always been able to make me _feel_. Even now, when I thought I was broken of the ability and well shot of every emotion.” Harry shook his head and gave a small, breathless laugh. “There’s still you. Somehow you always manage to break through. Don’t belittle what I feel for you or tell me it’s all in my head. It’s not.”  
  
He gazed up at him weakly. “It’s so much more than that and if you would just open your eyes to me then it would blind you.”  
  
Harry waited on tenterhooks but not an inkling of emotion flitted across Malfoy’s face. His expression was closed and his eyes were as hard as ever as he half-turned, scooped a sleeping Eve up in his arms, and Apparated away.  
  
Harry wasn’t sure whether to rail or crumple. There wasn’t a word for this sort of anguish. He would rather Malfoy had yelled or screamed, anything but that blank rejection. He was so immaterial, so unimportant, that he wasn’t even worthy of explanation or emotion. When had he gone from the Boy Who Lived to the boy who existed?  
  
He dragged himself to the edge of the pitch, his vision blurry, and his dignity in shambles. He wandered aimlessly, unwilling to even accidentally run into Malfoy in the manor. It wasn’t long before he found himself in front of the shadowed broom shed, the round face of the open padlock looking almost mocking as it grinned at him in the dim light.  
  
His fingertips glanced across the cool metal. He had flown today, hadn’t he? Why couldn’t he do so again? He could take this one step toward freedom, toward absolution, toward an afterlife. Malfoy wanted him to fight, why not start with his own fears?  
  
Harry took a step backward.  
  
But Malfoy had been with him every step of the way with Eve. He had never doubted that Malfoy could make him forget the worst of this world, of himself, but could he find that same peace alone? He didn’t see how he could regain his place as the wizarding world’s hero, how he could _fight_ , when he couldn’t even overcome this childish fear of flying.  
  
And what if he got on one of those brooms and the world didn’t fall away, what if You Know Who found him up there where the dark places of his heart were supposed to vanish, what if he got into that clear blue open and Ron and Hermione and Remus and all the rest were still dead? What if he didn’t have the unknown to look to for comfort when the state of things got to be too much?  
  
It would kill him.  
  
Harry turned and fled back to the man who wouldn’t have him, to the mansion he didn’t complement, and to the life he didn’t want.  
  
He stole into the manor as quietly as he was able and was marching up the stairs, feeling beaten and broken, when he heard voices coming from the study. The door was wide open—clearly Malfoy hadn’t expected him back so soon—and Harry carefully tiptoed closer, peering inside to see Malfoy’s back to him. Malfoy was facing away from the room’s only other occupant while Eve bandied about at their feet.  
  
Snape was standing before the fire and had either just arrived or was just leaving while Eve rubbed against his legs as a larger-than-average house cat. Malfoy was staring at the both of them in distaste as he placed books back on the shelves behind him, something he managed to make look elegant and striking.  
  
Harry stared at him, an almost painful ache in his heart, before he realized that Eve was making some sort of noise. He strained his ears and realized she wasn’t purring as he had first thought but. Well, it was almost like… like phoenix song. It was something so pure, so untouched by the evils of this world, so unrestrainedly happy that it seemed to swell inside Harry’s lungs until they expanded to the very edges of his ribcage. It inspired such a blissful, joyous feeling that he almost wanted to weep at the sheer pleasure of hearing it.  
  
Even Snape’s voice was markedly less steady when he challenged, “She embodies the baser impulses of you, doesn’t she?”  
  
Malfoy turned away from him and sneered. “She shows what I refuse to,” he shot back coldly.  
  
Bitter understanding settled over Harry as he realized this was Eve’s—meaning Malfoy’s—reaction to Snape’s presence. The beat of Harry’s heart seemed to swell with Eve’s ecstasy-filled vibration and he wondered if this was what Malfoy felt every time he was around Snape, this larger than life thrill that almost seemed as if it would burst from his chest.  
  
He couldn’t stand this stomach-clenching rapture when all he felt was overwhelming defeat. He tore himself away from their spiteful voices and Eve’s harmonious drone, his head throbbing and his feet weary. How could he win Malfoy’s heart away from that, how was he meant to battle that sort of affection when Malfoy already saw him as a nonentity, a burden that was forever in his way?  
  
He stumbled down the hallway, barely realizing where he was going, before he found himself outside Malfoy’s door. He pressed his fingertips against the dark wood, twisted the handle, and practically fell into the room. He was sure Malfoy wouldn’t want Harry in his bed tonight but Harry told himself he didn’t care. He just needed human contact, something to remind him that he could touch and be touched, that he was _real_ and significant.  
  
He unlaced his trainers, kicked them off, and settled against Malfoy’s mattress, burying his face in Malfoy’s pillow and inhaling deeply. If this was the only way to remind Malfoy that he existed, that Harry was a presence in his life, then so be it. He glanced up at the ceiling when something caught in his peripheral.  
  
And there it was.  
  
The glittering thing that seemed to beckon to him from the almost-closed cabinet on his right. Harry followed its brilliance, drawn to it like a moth to a flame, and nudged open the doors cautiously. His eyes landed and widened on the substance-less silver that was swirling inside a very old, very valuable-looking Pensieve. Malfoy’s Pensieve.  
  
Harry reached out for it carefully and placed it on the desk beneath the shelf it’d been sitting on, fighting with himself. These were Malfoy’s _personal_ memories versus these were _Malfoy’s_ personal memories. He had still yet to make a decision when he heard the horrifying sound of a throat clearing behind him along with an unreadable bark of, “Potter.”  
  
Harry spun around, stricken, as he attempted to choke out an explanation. “Malfoy, I—”  
  
Malfoy held up his hand and Harry fell tensely silent. Malfoy trained his sharp gaze on Harry and said without inflection or reprimand, “I have never forbidden you anything.” The words ‘ _this is the only way you’ll ever know_ ’ seemed to hang unspoken between them.  
  
Harry’s eyes widened in surprise and question.  
  
Malfoy’s only answer was a conceding dip of his chin. Harry stared at him for only a moment longer before he resolved himself, took a deep breath, and plunged his face beneath the cool surface.

  
_In loving memory._

Harry fell fast and hard, icy blackness biting into his skin as he dropped like a stone in freefall. The world began to materialize around him and when he finally slammed into the grassy earth, he found himself on his arse-end gazing over a cliff’s edge at the crashing waves below while the sun warmed his face. And though Harry had never been to this place it was still recognizable as he watched the Cornish cliffs crumble into the sea.  
  
He squinted and backed away from his precarious position, only then realizing that he was less than a foot away from a younger, haggard-looking Malfoy. Harry’s first instinct was to smooth his thumbs over the bags under Malfoy’s eyes but knowing that they would only meet thin air, and that the action wouldn’t be welcome even if that wasn’t the case, stayed him.  
  
Malfoy’s knees were drawn and his chin was resting on them as he stared out at the sinking sun, his hair lank and something crushed between his ashen fingers. And it wasn’t until someone said gruffly, “The world’s changed,” that Harry realized they weren’t alone on the cliff face.  
  
He placed a hand over his brow and saw the silhouette of a man he never thought he’d set eyes on again. The man looked worn but somehow better than Harry had ever seen him, no longer ragtag and broken. He had a smile on his scarred face and he was looking at Malfoy with something like genuine fondness.  
  
Malfoy only shrugged, not bothering to look at his shabby companion. His fingers let up on the squashed thing in his hand and Harry realized it was a half-empty cigarette pack. Slowly Malfoy slid out a clove and stared at it a moment. There was something in his gaze that Harry couldn’t identify and couldn’t hope to understand. The moment shattered when Malfoy curled his fist around it and flung it over the edge of the cliff as though he were setting it free. Harry watched as it was buffeted by the wind and thrown against the side before diving down, down, down into the unknowable.  
  
“He always said change was transitory but constant,” Malfoy said blankly as he plucked another cigarette from the pack and tossed it over with the same ceremony. “I assumed it was a message of hope that meant something better was on the horizon–” Malfoy smirked. “Probably how he wanted it, too. I see now that he never said it trended toward good, only different.”  
  
Remus watched him carefully and, after a beat of silence, announced, “Nymphadora’s pregnant.”  
  
Malfoy nodded once and pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes against the light. “I suppose we should keep her alive until she births your litter, then.”  
  
The sky around them broke and light devoured him, so bright that it was blinding and Harry had to close his eyes against the intrusion. When the red-orange burn in his eyelids finally faded, he chanced a glance around and found himself on a terrace of some sort, a garden to his left and portico doors to his right. He was sitting at a white, metal table, the body of which was made of twisted floral designs in a chair to match, next to Malfoy. And across from them was what could only be Malfoy’s mother, Narcissa.  
  
This Malfoy was even younger than the one in the previous memory, eighteen or nineteen now, and though he still looked weary, incongruously he also looked content. It was a good look for him and Harry found himself wishing he had known Malfoy when he was like this, when he still felt things and wasn’t cut off from the world.  
  
Malfoy’s mother caught Malfoy’s eye with her sharp gaze as he poured himself another cup of tea. Her eyelashes fluttered once and she folded her hands primly over her napkin as if preparing a speech. “It is a dangerous game you are playing, Draco,” she said after the false calm had lingered long enough in her estimation.  
  
Harry couldn’t believe that he had never speculated about Malfoy’s parents before this moment. He wondered if they were both gone. He didn’t see how they couldn’t be and knowing how Malfoy had worshipped them, he had a strange urge to toss himself out of the Pensieve and comfort his Malfoy, the one that was likely still standing behind his prone form in the doorway to his bedroom.  
  
He was drawn back to memory-Malfoy when he said almost flippantly, “Which, Mother? There are so many betrayals I have to offer you, why settle for disgust over one?”  
  
Narcissa Malfoy reared back, unmistakable hurt and disbelief in her eyes. She rearranged her hands, her gaze falling to her lap as though she was ashamed at such a revealing display. Her voice was tight when she spoke again. “You assume to know so much of your father and I. You are our son, you are not dispensable.”  
  
A slight show of sunlight dappled in the gold of her hair and, despite the severe style, it made the strands seem touchable. Her rigid posture that brought to mind a corset beneath her flowering robes had not slackened in the least but Harry no longer found it condescending, but rather proud. He thought she had never looked more beautiful than she did when she was defending her son, even if it was from himself.  
  
She took a controlled sip of her tea, her eyes never leaving Malfoy. “I do not consider your actions traitorous, nor do they disgust me.” Malfoy looked abashed and deflated into his chair’s back as his mother sighed and stared out at the garden. “Perhaps, were it a different time, a different climate, I might have sought to steer you toward another but I can see you will not be swayed.” She turned back to him as she said the last.  
  
“No,” Malfoy confirmed with tenacity.  
  
Narcissa Malfoy nodded as though she had expected nothing less and set her teacup on the saucer without a sound. “Therefore I will only tell you to be cautious.” A pale hand left her lap to cradle a weeping bell, the petals sliding velvet against her palm. Her face was thoughtful as she said softly, “Survival seems so tenuous these days,” while Malfoy stared at her as though searching for the unsaid in her words.  
  
The scene shifted around him and the light disappeared as though he had been abruptly clubbed over the head. He tossed out a hand to steady himself and his fingers met stone walls that he would know blind, deaf, and dumb. Dungeon.  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut tight as images bombarded his brain. What if this was Malfoy’s abuse he would have to witness? He couldn’t stand it, to know that Malfoy had been violated in the same ways he had. He collapsed against the wall and breathed deeply until he felt brave enough to open his eyes.  
  
The scene that met him was surprising, if only for the lack of shock value it offered. Malfoy was standing only a few feet away in the middle of the corridor, the torchlight flickering over his forearm as he fiddled with his ripped robes. His pale skin was bloody from an open cut that he was slowly sealing and Harry automatically reached for him in concern, his hand of course meeting nothing.  
  
A thin, pink scar appeared in the wake of the wound and, before Malfoy could fix his robes, sallow fingers had reached out and twisted harshly around his bony wrist. Malfoy’s head shot up in surprise to find Severus Snape practically breathing down his neck.  
  
“What have you done, idiot boy?” he demanded, his nostrils flaring.  
  
Malfoy yanked his arm out of Snape’s grip, stitching his robes together efficiently; only Harry seemed to notice that his hand shook ever so slightly. His eyes were shadowed as he answered ambiguously, “You made your vow and I made mine.”  
  
“Your mother cornered me into—” Snape started furiously before he derailed himself angrily. “And never in blood, fool,” he managed through a clenched jaw.  
  
Malfoy shrugged. “You could have dissuaded her, you’re expert in talking in circles, do not pretend she didn’t use your partiality to me against you.” Snape looked away and Malfoy informed softly, “She’s just as skilled in that art, you see.”  
  
Snape’s jaw flexed. “You cannot protect me any more than I can you. We’re both fools.”  
  
Malfoy’s hand fluttered over Snape’s shoulder for a brief swallow of time, almost as if it was meant to be consoling, before he said quietly, “It is done, Severus.”  
  
The floor lurched and Harry was falling headfirst into the stone bottom. He braced for the impact but instead of smashing his glasses against the rocky ground, he sank through to a lower level and landed softly on his feet next to Malfoy and a robed Death Eater.  
  
Harry didn’t think Malfoy had aged much, if at all, from the last memory, though he looked more wearied and sickly than Harry had ever seen him. The taller man, whose face was hidden by a mask, placed a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder and demanded in a gruff voice, “Kill her, Draco, and be done with it.”  
  
Malfoy nodded once, his gaze resolute and unwavering as it landed on the bundled girl in the corner. She looked up at him with overlarge eyes and Harry cried out as something sharp stabbed at his heart. He was by her side before he had even registered the thought to move. “Luna,” he said softly, ghosting his hand over her matted yellow hair.  
  
Malfoy sneered down at them, his eyes like ice. “You’re a disgrace to purebloods, wretch,” he spat coldly.  
  
Harry’s stomach dropped and bile rose in his throat as he twisted around Luna in a desperate, stupid effort to protect a ghost from the man he revered. Luna’s voice was thin but it held that same awed, airy brilliance it always had. “A Heliopath hiding amongst the flames, they think you’re one of them but I see you for what you are.” Malfoy’s stare widened and his wand hand lowered a fraction. Luna gazed up at him with trust and redemption in her eyes. She bowed her head and exonerated softly, “You’re a good man, Draco.”  
  
Malfoy raised his wand and jabbed it down at her pitiful position, hissing, “ _Avada Kedavra_ ,” with a deadness to his gaze.  
  
The room spun and the darkness started to lighten, Luna’s body slowly dissolving away from Harry’s grasping hands, until he found himself sitting in a cold, metal chair across a similarly designed table and staring into the haunted eyes of Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy was at his side, looking at his father with barely veiled contempt. “Father,” he identified as if he were cataloguing a particularly revolting specimen.  
  
Lucius bowed his head and placed his linked hands on the countertop, the chain from his wrists clanging against the metal piercingly. His voice was reedy and seemed almost as if it had been cobbled together from mismatching sounds. “I didn’t think you would come,” he managed finally.  
  
Malfoy stared out the small window in the visiting room and replied with bite, “Mother insisted.”  
  
Lucius brought his cracked palms up to cover his wan and sallow face, muffling his already shattered voice. “What must you think?” There was an ache to his words that almost had Harry reaching out to steady his shaking shoulders.  
  
Malfoy, however, was not moved. “As if that matters to you,” he accused. “Let us do each other the favor of not pretending just this once.”  
  
Lucius lowered his hands and nodded weakly. There was none of the pride or vanity that had once made the Malfoy patriarch so stark a figure. He was a broken man and that sentiment was blared from his slumped posture to his sedate gaze. Lucius stared at his son and paused before guessing, “You’re ashamed.” He clarified, “Of me.”  
  
Malfoy held his gaze for a moment before he admitted, “Yes.” There was no condemnation in it, only honesty of the brutal variety.  
  
Lucius laughed a grim laugh and looked at his son with something almost like pride hovering over the anguish. “I suppose it must please you to know you are still capable of cutting your father.”  
  
“Still?” Malfoy parroted back, jeering. “You act as if I ever knew I had any affect over you – some statue of a man, my father, Lucius Malfoy.” Malfoy glanced around and withdrew a half-crushed pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket of his suit. He slid a kretek into his mouth, the end igniting the moment his lips touched it. He blew out a winding stream of smoke above his head. “And now you ask this of me.”  
  
Lucius watched the smoke before his gaze sank back to his son and there was a desperation in his eyes, for approval, for understanding, for his son to look back at him with his eleven-year-old adoration in which he could do no wrong. Malfoy did not oblige him and Lucius sighed. “I understand you don’t approve—”  
  
Malfoy’s hand reached for his father’s across the table, his fingers squeezing Lucius’ thumb briefly before he twisted that same hand around and flicked his ash into his father’s open palm. “It is weakness,” he said after a moment in which Lucius did nothing but stare at the tangible evidence of what his son thought of him.  
  
Harry almost wanted to reprimand him for his cool dismissal, who was he to shatter what was already broken beyond repair? When had Malfoy become so broken himself that he couldn’t find even a sliver of compassion for his own father?  
  
He watched Malfoy’s distant gaze roam over his father’s destruction as he stared down at the dying embers in his hand. Malfoy covered them over with his own palm and near growled as Lucius’ pained eyes climbed his face. “Are you or are you not the man who sliced open my favorite peacock and entreated me not to cry?” Harry gasped in surprised sympathy and he had a feeling Malfoy’s words would have stopped for no man even if he had heard it. “Did you not continue to slaughter the flock until I could look on without a single sound? Weakness is below a Malfoy – isn’t that what you told me, Father?” Lucius said nothing but his eyes had dropped to the tabletop as if he were ashamed. Malfoy’s palm flattened over his father’s and he ground the ash into Lucius’ skin. “Now I discover you stole my childhood and you can’t even uphold these twisted convictions of yours.”  
  
Malfoy withdrew his hand and took a slow drag from the dark cigarette in his mouth. Lucius watched the splotch of smeared ash that had devoured his lifeline. After a deep inhale of smoke-infested air, he acknowledged, “I know what you must think of me, Draco, but I am only doing what I think is best.”  
  
“Easiest,” Malfoy corrected with ease, as though the aspersion had been on the tip of his tongue for their entire meeting.  
  
The elder Malfoy’s sadness was like a palpable pall over the close-quartered room. “I despise how often and devastatingly I have disappointed you,” he admitted quietly. When he looked up his grey eyes were glossy. “Will you or will you not do it?”  
  
Malfoy looked away, seeming uncomfortable for the first time. “Perhaps I haven’t decided.”  
  
Lucius let out a bark of laughter and the crinkling of his eyes made the sheen over them swell. “I may not have been the best father but I do know you, my son. You would not have entered this room if you did not already know what you intended to do.”  
  
Malfoy nodded once curtly and stood from his chair. He stubbed his kretek on the corner of the table and didn’t look at Lucius as he whispered, “Any last words?”  
  
Lucius came around the table as much as his chains would allow and his fingers fluttered over Malfoy’s jaw and neck. “You were everything I could ask for in a son. I don’t think you ever knew it and you should have,” he said sincerely as he lowered his head.  
  
Malfoy returned the gesture, his hand resting more firmly on the junction where neck met shoulder. He tightened his grip once and said in a strained tone, “Despite everything, you have never disappointed me.” The blade was drawn so quickly that Harry didn’t even see where it came from as, in one smooth movement, Malfoy slit his father’s throat.  
  
Lucius collapsed onto his knees, Malfoy gently cradling his fragile body as he fell. Malfoy lowered him to the floor carefully as blood poured out of Lucius Malfoy at an alarming rate. His father’s eyes fluttered once, twice, and then moved no more. Malfoy placed a hand over Lucius’ stained shirt before he stood and stared down at his lifeless body expressionlessly. “Goodbye, Father,” was all he said as he turned on his heel.  
  
Harry stared after Malfoy with confusion, disbelief, and… disgust but the image was fading already and a tombstone sprouted up exactly where Harry had been standing only a moment before. He jumped out of the way as a row of them pushed through the lush grass and he found himself standing only inches away from Malfoy as he sat in front of the headstone that had nearly impaled him.  
  
He was sitting cross-legged and his expression was wistful as he placed his palm against the cold stone. Harry stood next to him warily, hoping Malfoy wasn’t killing anyone without mercy or concern in this memory. Malfoy’s words from what seemed a lifetime ago floated back to him, “ _You don’t know what I’ve done to survive this_.”  
  
He really hadn’t.  
  
Harry started violently as someone asked with disdain, “How long have you been here?”  
  
He whirled around to find Snape standing less than a foot away from Malfoy’s back. His hair was windswept and his normally pale cheeks had the slightest bit of pink, giving Harry the impression that he had walked here rather than Apparated. He turned back as Malfoy answered and he was smiling in a fashion that Harry had never seen him do, as if he were genuinely and furtively pleased.  
  
“Time doesn’t really seem to mean much in a graveyard,” he answered in a way that seemed to undermine the question. He traced over the letters on the drab granite and Harry read the name for the first time:

 

_Pansy Marie Parkinson_

  
Malfoy smiled again, this one for conspirators, and it seemed to be more for Pansy’s sake than Snape’s. “I was going to marry her, you know,” he informed Snape reminiscently.  
  
Snape pursed his lips and he didn’t seem to know what Malfoy was asking of him or how he was meant to respond to it. He stared at Pansy’s grave marker with fresh intensity. “I suppose I should be glad she’s dead then.”  
  
Malfoy shook his head and laughed. “She would have teased me mercilessly for falling for you but, in the end, she wouldn’t have cared.” Snape moved closer to them and Malfoy reached up and twisted his fingers around Snape’s while Harry looked on, his eyes blazing. Malfoy looked up at Snape, his eyes bright and grateful. “I know my Pansy. ‘Fuck ‘em,’ she would have said, ‘fuck ‘em all’.”  
  
Snape held Malfoy’s hand tighter and said softly, “I’m sorry.”  
  
Malfoy nodded against Snape’s forearm and said blankly, “I know.”  
  
The cheerful light around them faded as though the world were dimming and misleading shadows were tossed up onto newly visible beige walls. Harry’s eyes were immediately drawn to the center of the barely furnished room as a trembling, thin Malfoy shared the bed with an intense-looking Snape. He moved around them cautiously so he could see their faces and only then noticed that Malfoy’s robes had been pushed off his shoulder and were exposing skin that was raw red and angry.  
  
From his shoulder to his arm, and partway down his chest, were marks that were almost like chicotte lashes and Malfoy winced as Snape bent close to him and dabbed at the gashes with a potion-stained flannel. Malfoy gritted his teeth as Snape pressed the cloth to his damaged skin. He sucked in air painfully and pointed out, “You’ve escaped his wrath.”  
  
Snape didn’t look up at Malfoy’s face and instead continued his diligent, meticulous work, grunting out, “Momentary good graces.”  
  
Malfoy raised an eyebrow while Harry settled himself closer and ghosted his hand over Malfoy’s knee in quiet sympathy. He hated seeing Malfoy hurt, more so than even he remembered. “How so?”  
  
Snape did look up then. “Modified Polyjuice. No time limit. You need the antidote to dissolve it.”  
  
Malfoy’s gaze seemed to brighten the longer their stare held and his mouth tilted to the side in a slight smirk. “Impressive,” he murmured and Snape looked away fiercely.  
  
The shadows on the walls suddenly seemed to involve themselves in an extreme flurry of motion. They grew longer and seemed to bob and weave as light came and went, twisting, shortening, stretching until finally settling. When Harry’s eyes adjusted to the tumultuous action, he was alone on the bed and the room was much brighter than it had been previously. Malfoy was standing in front of the window, his back to Harry and Snape, who stood at the door as though he’d just entered through it.  
  
Snape cleared his throat and his voice was authoritative and cool. “Draco, this shouldn’t continue. I understand you needed something after your father’s death—”  
  
Malfoy let out a snort. “After I killed him, Severus,” he said with a calm laugh, his mouth quirked and his eyes dark. He turned to face Snape, his gaze fever-bright. “No euphemisms or skirting it, yeah?” He shook his head coldly. “My father, the great hypocrite, all my life he extolled the virtues of being a pureblood and yet, when it came down to it, he chose a Muggle death over life in Azkaban.” He frowned and took a step closer to Snape. “And, you’re right, I did need you as an anesthetic of sorts for my pain, now I just need you.”  
  
Harry’s heart wrenched painfully at that while Snape straightened against the door. “Draco, I’m twice your age,” he said quietly.  
  
Malfoy was unrepentant. “Which means what to us?”  
  
Snape snapped icily, “I’m old enough to be your father.”  
  
Malfoy smirked. “I would worry if you were my father, there’s that whole Inferius aspect before you even get to the incest.” Malfoy advanced on Snape and brushed the backs of his fingers over the older man’s jaw. He tilted his head to the side curiously. “I want you, how does it benefit you to push me away? Who’re you trying to be noble for?”  
  
Harry closed his eyes and repeated to himself firmly that he must be misinterpreting things.  
  
He didn’t open them again until he heard the sound of harsh breathing, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Malfoy was lying in the middle of a stone atrium—and Harry belatedly noticed it was the same place where he, himself, had been ‘gifted’ to the man who now lay beaten and broken in the center of it. A faceless Death Eater was pulling a chicotte back and striking Malfoy over and over again while Malfoy writhed and moaned pathetically.  
  
Harry looked away, unable to stomach it as his throat went tight and his nostrils burned with the portent of oncoming sick. Malfoy’s back, face, legs, and arms were rife with welts, blood, and deep gashes. His attention was drawn to Snape as he stood at Voldemort’s seated side, his eyes blank and his lips bloodless.  
  
Voldemort grinned, a sickening sight to behold as those almost nonexistent lips stretched taut over sharp teeth. His eyes were gleaming desirously as he murmured appreciatively, “Such a rebellious boy.”  
  
The ground suddenly shattered and Harry fell through, his shoeless feet landing hard on the stone bottom of a cell’s floor. A wounded moan snapped his head around and Harry realized this memory must have immediately followed the last as he watched Malfoy unfurl himself from a ratty cot in the corner, the red cuts only slightly staunched. He stepped closer to Harry and Harry’s eyes widened as he backed up in shock. Surely Malfoy couldn’t see him?  
  
He leapt out of the way only to find that Malfoy was walking up to the bars to meet Snape, whose mouth was tight as he narrowed his eyes. His voice was low and careful as he muttered, deadpan, “He’s been watching you.”  
  
Malfoy nodded as the world spun so fast that Harry had to take a moment to steady himself, his mind dizzy and his eyes blurry, before he could focus. He was still standing in a prison but this time on the opposite side of the bars, Malfoy cool and poised at his side as he stared down at the bundled heap contained within with inexpressive eyes. The tip of his wand was poking out over the elbow of his crossed arms and he looked healthier than he had in the last memory, though the skin beneath his eyes was slightly yellowed. He was still inexplicably beautiful.  
  
His lip raised in disgust and he barked, “Zabini.”  
  
The lump on the floor shuddered and finally raised its head. The dark gaunt face and wild eyes of someone that Harry vaguely remembered from his Hogwarts days looked back at them. His gaze darted about and he licked his lips as he recognized Malfoy. He scrambled to his feet, his body upsettingly thin and without a scrap of clothing on it. He clung to the bars desperately. “Malfoy?” he set in frantically. “You have to help me—”  
  
Malfoy’s voice was like ice as he corrected, “I don’t have to do anything, Zabini.” He took stock of their surroundings seemingly for the first time and ran a pristine, pale hand over the rusted bars. “Why are you here?”  
  
The dark-skinned man’s eyes moved about in a frenzied rhythm as his voice jumped with an edgy anxiety. “I-I ran, fled Europe. I came back for my mother’s funeral, I didn’t even know she’d – I wasn’t there, so I-so I came back.” His hands grabbed tighter around the bars imploringly while he pressed his face more firmly between the two. “The Death Eaters, they caught me and brought me here, said I was a deserter, said they were gonna kill me – Please, Draco, you have to—”  
  
Zabini’s rambling plea dropped off as an amiable voice piped up in genuine hilarity, “Amusing, innit?”  
  
Malfoy just barely turned on his heel, his entire posture condescending as he clipped, “Quite.” Harry, on the other hand, had whipped around at hearing the familiar voice and his mouth dropped open as his suspicions were confirmed. There was not a less likely candidate for Death Eater except perhaps Albus Dumbledore himself, and—Merlin—did that still hurt to think about.  
  
The laughing man tipped his head in the direction of Zabini’s cell and screwed up his face. “What chou wanna do with him?” The pimply man shrugged. “I figure we just kill him outright but if you wanna have a go at ‘im—”  
  
Malfoy’s features tightened and he interrupted coldly. “I want him alive.”  
  
The other man’s eyebrow rose and he questioned suspiciously, “What fer?”  
  
Malfoy’s gaze narrowed and his voice lowered to a threatening hush. “I didn’t realize I answered to you, Shunpike.”  
  
Stan Shunpike quickly backpedaled and held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean nufink by it. You don’t gotta say anythin’.”  
  
“Run along now, Shunpike,” Malfoy said coolly as he turned his back on the man.  
  
“Yessir,” Shunpike said grudgingly as he turned away down the hall.  
  
Zabini, who had taken to cowering at the back of his cell when Shunpike arrived, now came forward again and dropped to his knees at Malfoy’s feet. There were tears in his big brown eyes. “Thank you, Malfoy. Thank you—”  
  
Malfoy moved out of Zabini’s reach, eyeing him with equal parts revulsion and disdain. “I wouldn’t thank me just yet, Zabini,” he informed him chillily. He pursed his lips. “You’ll wish I was more kind-hearted soon enough when you’re begging me for death.”  
  
Suddenly Harry felt as if he were being pulled at lightning speed backward as Zabini’s face and cell dwindled while he was yanked faster and faster through space and time. He flew past hazy shapes and indistinct rooms until finally his feet planted, the sudden stop so jarring that he almost missed what happened next—and in a few moments, wished he had.  
  
“I have a report,” said Malfoy’s voice, something indefinable in it—almost as if he were waiting for something, and Harry wrenched his head around so he could focus on the smirking man. Malfoy looked different, smug and… happy.  
  
And perhaps it shouldn’t have been as much of a shock as it was considering what Harry had seen in the upstairs study and what the previous memories had alluded to, but he couldn’t quite contain his gasp of surprise as Snape rounded on Malfoy with a calculated swirl, grabbed him by the back of his neck, and mashed their lips together. He forced Malfoy back into the side of his desk, his mouth working furiously, violently, in an effort to deplete Malfoy of those amorous kisses.  
  
With a broad sweep, Snape cleared his desk calamitously. He lifted Malfoy up and pushed him down breathlessly. They were both gasping, biting at each other’s jaws, panting, and writhing against one another. Harry was struck by the raw need displayed by not just Snape, but Malfoy.  
  
Snape tore his mouth away. “I thought you were dead,” he growled, almost accusing. He pressed his forehead to Malfoy’s, who said nothing, just tore open Snape’s robes and pulled his shirt out of the tuck in his pants before running the flat of his palm up the other man’s abdomen in an almost coquettish gesture, dragging a shiver from the older man.  
  
Harry looked away, his heart in his throat and his eyes burning with bitter tears against the desperate, pleasure-filled sounds of Malfoy pressing his mouth to Snape’s own, onto his neck, his collarbone, his chest. Harry glanced back at them to find Malfoy had slid off the desk and was now kneeling in front of the other man. His back was to the clean-cut wood as he pressed his face to Snape’s crotch and mouthed his groin through the fabric of his pants.  
  
Harry pressed his fist to his teeth and cried stupid, salty, resentful tears and hated Snape and Malfoy with all his heart.  
  
“You were late,” Snape sneered, his voice markedly less steady and with a breathy quality that only spoke to one event. He cradled the side of Malfoy’s face with a strange yet intense intimacy and his voice was soft as he added, “Two days.”  
  
The noises got louder and more obscene, Snape’s breathing choppier and his grunts more desperate, and Harry pressed his hands over his ears and closed his eyes shut tight until he thought it might be over. He heard what must have been Snape’s final groan as he emptied himself into Malfoy’s mouth and then Malfoy was standing up, using his thumb to help suck up the last of Snape’s essence.  
  
He shrugged, his eyes bright and his voice cheeky. “I got caught up.”  
  
Snape was not amused. He tucked himself away and scowled. “Report, then.” For a second it looked as if he would move away and then he seemed to notice. He smirked and looked down before palming the hardness he found at the front of Malfoy’s robes and Harry wanted to _scream_ at the unfairness of it.  
  
Malfoy gave a breathy little gasp and canted his hips toward Snape as Harry silently raged. Malfoy closed his eyes and rocked into Snape’s hand. “We’re being picked off one by one.” He gasped, adding, “You must have noticed it?” Snape nodded curtly. “Someone’s selling us out,” Malfoy managed, panting. “It’s almost as if they know what we’re going to do before we do.”  
  
Snape’s hand stopped its movement and he questioned stonily, “Someone high-ranking?”  
  
Malfoy was gasping but he didn’t try to entice Snape into continuing. The subject seemed to have ruined the mood for the both of them, which Harry could only be glad of. Malfoy nodded guardedly. “It must be.” He moved around the table and said with cynical flippancy, his mouth curved in sneering amusement, “Deaths seem to be amassing left and right.”  
  
Snape’s brow furrowed. “Who?”  
  
Malfoy swallowed, his head bowed. “Minerva.”  
  
Snape proceeded cautiously. He walked up behind Malfoy who was standing before one of the shelves in what had turned out to be a small potions room and tapping one of those drinking birds distractedly. Snape carefully placed his hands on Malfoy’s shoulders and whispered, “You?”  
  
Harry was listening intently as it seemed as if the two were having an esoteric conversation that was occurring almost entirely in their heads. He could barely discern the subject based on these single-word interrogations.  
  
Malfoy nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said on a breath.  
  
Snape frowned. “Bad?”  
  
Malfoy abruptly turned on his heel and looked as if he was contemplating diving into the warmth of Snape’s chest. He didn’t.  
  
He bit his lip before he pulled a face and disclosed, his voice haunted, “I – I had to Transfigure her and, Merlin, and boil her alive.”  
  
Snape swallowed, his eyes growing rounder. “Don’t think on it,” he croaked.  
  
Malfoy shook his head, not seeming to hear him as the memory came back to him with a visceral intensity. “It was horrible. The screeching, I—”  
  
Snape pulled Malfoy into his arms and murmured, “Idiot,” as Malfoy pressed his cheek to the older man’s shoulder and breathed out shakily. Snape raised an inquisitive brow. “Anyone else?”  
  
Malfoy’s words were offhand, muffled by Snape’s shoulder as he tossed out, “Granger, supposedly,” and lodged a shard of ice in Harry’s chest that was difficult to breathe around. He added just as carelessly, “Unsubstantiated as of now, but I heard she was mutilated, just a burned carcass, warped and twisted.”  
  
Harry’s legs trembled and he lowered himself to the ground carefully as Snape inquired, “Which leaves whom then?”  
  
Malfoy sighed and ticked off, “Weasley four, five, six, and eight. Lupin. My dear cousin, Nymphadora.” His eyes widened and he said in an almost panicked tone, “Oh God, is that it?”  
  
Snape pulled away slightly and said in an underhanded tone, “You must have your suspicions.”  
  
“Possibly,” Malfoy admitted ambiguously. “All I know is none of us can survive much longer like this.” He glanced up at Snape and stated emotionlessly, “He’s won it, hasn’t he?”  
  
“You already knew that. You’re no idealist.” Snape waved him off and asked sharply, “What about Potter?”  
  
Harry’s head snapped up to watch Malfoy.  
  
He paused, seeming thrown by the question, before he answered with certainty, “He has to be dead. What reason would he have for keeping him?”  
  
“There’s a chance,” Snape muttered in a waffling manner.  
  
Malfoy nodded and said in a defeated tone, “I hope, for his sake, that he’s well dead. Who would want to live in this world?” He shrugged and he and Snape shared a moment before the latter turned away. Malfoy sighed and informed him, “Weasley eight’s got to be next.”  
  
Snape eyed him piercingly. “What makes you say that?”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes were cold. “He’s always been a target and now, with Granger’s death, he’s gotten careless. He’ll die by his own undoing, the Dark Lord, or whoever the hell’s selling us out.”  
  
 _Ron._  
  
“You can protect him,” Snape hazarded.  
  
Malfoy nodded. “I can try.” He added quickly, “But they say kill him and I kill him.”  
  
An undercurrent of buzzed silence passed between them and Malfoy missed Snape’s cringe before he commanded, “You need to get close to him.”  
  
Malfoy started violently and his eyes went hard. “Close to that monster? How can you ask that of me?” His voice was accusing and strained with disbelief. “I thought you l—” His eyes widened and he cut himself off instantly as both he and Snape froze in tense calm.  
  
Snape cleared his throat and his voice was tight. “I’m fading in his eyes. If you gain his trust then perhaps you can find out who’s whispering our secrets in his ear.”  
  
Malfoy turned away irritably. “Not before all of us are too dead to care,” he muttered petulantly.  
  
“There’s a solution, we’re just not seeing it,” Snape told him, rubbing his forehead.  
  
Malfoy tapped his fingers on Snape’s desk with antsy impatience before finally reaching into his robe and pulling out a packet of cloves. He fumbled with one and gave in. “I’ll attempt to gain his favor.”  
  
Snape nodded in acknowledgement of the concession. “We’re living in an imperfect world. You’ve seen far too much of it for one person.” Snape smiled, a true—if small—smile, and plucked the cigarette from Malfoy’s fingers. “But none of that excuses this.”  
  
Malfoy smirked back at him. “I’ll be dead before I can suffer anything long term.”  
  
Snape’s smile vanished and he sighed. “I wish you would quit this.”  
  
“I know.” Malfoy touched Snape’s face and gazed at him with a tenderness to his eyes that Harry had never seen there before, not even for Eve. “It’s one of the many things I love about you. You’re still an idealist.”  
  
A sucking sensation pulled Harry through the floor and he plummeted fast, falling almost instantly onto a rumpled, dark red bedspread as all light seemed to wink out of existence. Malfoy was standing directly in front of him, a dark outline with his back to him, only a sheet wrapped around his shoulders. He shifted slightly and Harry could see Snape’s silhouette before the window, not looking at either one of them.  
  
Malfoy’s voice was rough when he finally spoke. “I can’t be her.” He shifted on his feet anxiously.  
  
The silence stretched taut until Snape finally answered gruffly, “I’ve never asked it of you.”  
  
“Not in so many words,” Malfoy conceded with a twist of his hand. He lifted his chin and said softly, “I’m no replacement for Lily Potter, your paragon of good, incapable of wrong and the embodiment of perfection, angelic up on that pedestal you’ve placed her on.” Harry gaped at Snape’s back, certain he had heard wrong. Malfoy walked over to face Snape and admitted coolly, “I’m a man with no scruples, Severus, and I’m sure I’ll only fall in your eyes. Chances are I’ll cock this up horribly but when you fuck me I want you to be fucking _me_.”  
  
Snape scoffed. “Have I not attended to your needs?”  
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not in question.” He said seriously, his voice unflinching, “I refuse to share your bed with a ghost.”  
  
Harry jumped back with a yelp as one of the rafters caught fire and fell to the scorched floor with a resounding thump, the flames leaping higher. Malfoy and Snape seemed not to notice as the smoke obscured their dark forms. As the plaster and wreckage cleared, Harry almost ran forward and engulfed the man before him in his arms. There he was, lean and he looked like death warmed over, but he was alive and he appeared oddly heroic as the haze blurred his outline and the blaze threw up an impressive shade behind him. The best friend Harry had ever had.  
  
Ron started coughing as the smoke got thicker and he collapsed onto his knees as a hulking shape moved towards him through the flames. The words, “ _Avada Kedavra_ ,” rang out in the crackling inferno and Harry could hardly look, but it was the bulky man that fell, dead, to the burning ground.  
  
Harry had never felt so impotent in all his life as he watched Ron suffocating to death in the smoldering house. He railed and screamed and begged Ron to get up but, of course, his words went unheard and unheeded.  
  
Fat, useless tears slid down his cheeks when he saw Malfoy coughing and blasting obstacles out of his way as he stumbled through the debris. He reached Ron and hefted up, getting one of the redhead’s arms around his shoulders. He pulled both of them out of the fiery ramshackle of a cottage while Harry followed, stars in his eyes as he gazed at Malfoy.  
  
Malfoy was lucky Harry couldn’t touch him because there would have been nothing in the world that could have stopped him from jumping the man.  
  
He lowered Ron to the grass gently while he coughed, taking in deep lungfuls of air. He helped Ron to sit up and settled next to him while they watched the roaring fire consume the dilapidated house. Malfoy was still staring at the guzzling flames when he said hollowly, “I can’t let you go.”  
  
Ron’s head whipped around and he asked archly, “Then why bother killing him?”  
  
Malfoy rolled his wand between his palm and fingertip before he stood up elegantly. “Because he would have made it gruesome, whereas I’ll make it quick.”  
  
“No!” Harry screamed. He tried to grab onto Malfoy but his hands met nothing but cool air. “No, not Ron, Malfoy, you can’t—Malfoy! Please, you’re better than this, please!” Harry fell forward, through Malfoy, onto his knees, sobbing into his hands.  
  
“Painless?” He heard Ron say, followed by the sound of crunching grass that likely meant the lanky redhead was now standing as well. Ron’s voice was soft and calm, almost amused, as if he was smiling. “Make it painless, Malfoy, I’ve been living with too much of it.”  
  
Malfoy’s voice was shaky though trying for unaffected. “You brought this on yourself, mourning her to the exclusion of all else. You got careless.”  
  
That grin was still present in Ron’s voice as he stated unrepentantly, “I wouldn’t do it differently. Harry’s dead and Hermione’s – She needs me, wherever she is.” A sob caught in Harry’s throat as he tore at his robes in futility. “You know, she has a tendency to appear a bit big-headed without me around,” Ron added knowingly, a happy sadness in his words.  
  
Malfoy sneered. “So sure there’s something after this, are you?”  
  
Ron’s voice went hard and tough as he challenged, “When they kill Snape, you see what you believe in so you can sleep at night.”  
  
Harry tried to drown out the words but Malfoy’s quiet, “ _Avada Kedavra_ ” seemed to slip in and burn into his very core.  
  
The bright orange glow was doused to be replaced by the flickering heartbeat of torchlight but Harry barely noticed. His heart had been torn out by the one man he had ever thought to entrust with it. He wanted to join his friends, his family, and for the first time in his life he wished for death—true and simple death. He had nothing to live for, Malfoy had taken it all in that last moment.  
  
He heard Snape’s voice behind him say softly, “Follow me.” But Harry couldn’t bring himself to care what the memory showed. He couldn’t bring himself to care about anything anymore, not even Malfoy.  
  
Malfoy’s voice was curious and light-hearted as he asked pryingly, “What is this about?”  
  
Harry’s ire surged, what right did Malfoy have to be happy when he had killed Luna and McGonagall and Ron? And who knew how many others had met the deadly end of his wand. Harry rose up furiously and turned to find Snape leaning close to Malfoy, the bristled edge of his lip upturned as he admitted, “I’m afraid I’ve done something rather sentimentally foolhardy.”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes grew gentle as he reminded Snape, “You don’t have a sentimental bone in your body.” And, Harry realized with a start, that he did still care for Malfoy and maybe he always would.  
  
But he could never forgive him.  
  
He followed reluctantly as Snape led Malfoy to a door down the hall a ways. “Close your eyes,” Snape instructed as he placed his hand on the door handle and Malfoy did so instantly.  
  
Snape led him into the room and sat Malfoy in a chair as he disappeared into a separate living area. He returned with a bright blur of silver that Harry recognized instantly. He placed the twisting thing on the ground and it immediately sprouted swirling, floppy ears and hopped around at Malfoy’s feet.  
  
The snuffling rabbit grew larger into the form of an otter and leant up to touch Malfoy’s hand, which was hanging over the side of the chair, with her nose. Malfoy jumped at the sensation and Harry remembered how cold she was to the touch with an incongruously warm feeling in his breast.  
  
Malfoy stuttered uncertainly, “Severus, what-what—”  
  
Snape leant forward and watched Malfoy for a moment before he lightly pressed his mouth to both of his closed eyelids. He slid his hands into Malfoy’s and helped him to stand as he said, “Open.”  
  
Malfoy did as he was told and Eve ran around his legs in wild excitement. She changed quickly into the feather-light form of a hummingbird and flew around Malfoy, circling him as she shot up into the air in pure joy. She plummeted down, hitting the floor as a blob of silver before she sprouted back up in the form of a meerkat. Malfoy was grinning so wide that Harry could see the faint beginnings of a dimple in his right cheek. It was terribly endearing. “This can’t be what I think it is,” he said, his voice jumpy with delight.  
  
Snape’s gaze was affectionate and almost honeyed. Harry wondered if Malfoy noticed that, too. “She’s yours, entirely.”  
  
Malfoy’s mouth dropped open. He shook his head as he blurted, “These take years to…” Snape’s eyes were warm and Malfoy quickly pulled him into a tight embrace, mouthing against Snape’s neck so only Harry could see, ‘I love you, too.’  
  
The light crept away and dark poured into the room as though black paint was sliding down the walls and, when Harry looked back, Malfoy and Snape were on the bed. Snape was lying with his head propped up by his elbow, a blanket tugged over his naked waist, as he watched Malfoy. Malfoy was sitting in the middle of the mattress, his legs crossed with only a thin sheet to cover his lower half as Eve ran about in the form of a dog that was about the size of Malfoy’s palm. She yapped at him in mock anger as he dangled a ball just out of her reach.  
  
Snape’s voice was serene as he asked hoarsely, “What will you call her?”  
  
Malfoy smirked and grabbed his wand off the table by their bedside. He shot gold sparks up at the wall while Snape looked on in surprised confusion. The word, ‘sureveS,’ was spelled out in large, twinkling letters but as Snape turned his head to look, Malfoy grabbed his chin and directed it towards the full mirror across from them. And there, in those same twinkling letters, was the name, ‘Severus,’ reflected back.  
  
 _“Is that Latin or something?”  
  
Malfoy’s lips twitched. “Or something.”_  
  
God, he was such an idiot. Of course it was about Snape, it was all about Snape. There was no place for him in Malfoy’s life, not with the way he clearly felt about this other man. He just didn’t understand why either of them had ever tried to deny it.  
  
Eve rolled over and her folded ears became pointed, her short tail grew long and more tensile, familiar square marks of a certain Transfigured witch formed around her eyes and Snape eyed her with an unreadable gaze. He placed his hand over Malfoy’s and said softly, “Why torture yourself like this?”  
  
Malfoy didn’t answer, just pursed his lips together, and Snape rolled his eyes. Malfoy grinned at him and added as an afterthought, “Eve for short, I think.” Snape’s mouth twitched before he pulled Malfoy down by the back of his neck and kissed him deeply.  
  
The kiss dissolved and Malfoy and Snape seemed to burst into a firework of split parts before some unseen force grabbed the rented pieces and rearranged them to create a soft fire’s glow and the dusty brilliance of a stuffy library.  
  
“He loves you,” said a kind voice that Harry recognized from a previous memory. He turned away from the bobbing flames to see Remus and Malfoy standing only a few feet behind him, watching the same gasping inferno.  
  
Malfoy’s expression was bitter as he spat, “He loves her more.” He curled his hand angrily around his glass tumbler, his features sour and sneering. “The specter of Lily Potter will haunt me forever.”  
  
The fire burned brighter and brighter until suddenly it sprung up in the grate and was licking at the very walls. The library disappeared in a haze of smoke and heat and, as abruptly as it started, it was as if all the oxygen had been sucked away as not even an ember was left to sizzle.  
  
Malfoy was sitting on the edge of a bed, watching Snape’s tensed back as the man stood before a mantle, liquor in hand. He eyed his scarred skin unseeingly and lamented into the oppressive silence, “He owns me.”  
  
Snape rounded on him, fury and desperation in the lines of his face and his eyes ablaze. He grabbed Malfoy by his neck and pushed him down onto the bed, snarling, “ _I_ own you.”  
  
He tore Malfoy’s robe open, drink forgotten on the worn shelf, and all but devoured him. “Sev!” Malfoy cried out, passion-strained and hungry.  
  
Snape ripped his pants down and Malfoy’s back arched beatifically as he pulled the man against him with his thighs and pushed back into his harried thrusts with desperate calls of need and demand. Snape’s teeth were gritted but he managed to force out, his anger and passion equaled, “Don’t—let—Him—break—you.”  
  
Harry tried not to hear them but even he couldn’t deny that the moment was... special somehow. And it was hard to begrudge Malfoy the few moments of pleasure he had received in his whole, death-consumed life. Though it still ate at him that he was not the one to give them.  
  
It seemed that even murdering the people he had loved most was not enough to sever the wealth of his affection for Malfoy. He doubted anything ever would.  
  
He belatedly noticed that the strenuous sounds of consummation had faded and he heard Malfoy’s voice inquire tiredly, on the edge of sleep, “And if this is the end of it?” It was as if the memory had known he wanted to know no more of it and fast-forwarded itself. He was extremely grateful for it.  
  
He glanced over at Snape and Malfoy to find Malfoy was lying on his side, facing Harry, while Snape watched him in an unreadable fashion from the other end of the bed. He pressed a hand to Malfoy’s shoulder and dragged his palm down to the jut of his elbow. “Then I’ve no regrets,” he answered stiffly. “I’ve lived my best years.” He rolled onto his back and said to the ceiling, “They were all you.”  
  
Snape’s face wavered and blinked out of existence and then Harry was like the cigarette being buffeted by the wind as he was twirled by an indecisive breeze until he had landed, unsteadily, on the same cliff’s edge. The world was darker now, the scene more ominous as the same man met his wandering gaze, though he did not look near as contented. His face was drawn and his eyes dark as he made his way toward a rapidly approaching figure.  
  
Malfoy’s face was pinched as Remus finally met him on the cliff side, his voice hard and unrelenting as he attempted to hold Malfoy at bay. “Draco—” he started, his voice roughened.  
  
Malfoy’s head jerked to the side and he barked, “What, what is it?”  
  
Remus shook his head. “He set a trap,” he finally answered clinically. “George Weasley, he went mad after Fred, Severus must have suspected. He drew him out.”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes went wide and he twisted out of Remus’ grip violently, hissing, “Don’t fucking touch me, werewolf,” as he cut around him. He stopped cold and fell back as he saw what awaited him.  
  
Snape’s eyes were cold and empty as he stared up at them, mud smearing his cheek and a lax expression on his waxen features.  
  
Malfoy fell to his knees. There was no preamble, no tears, just a silent break that could be heard over eons of time and was felt like a deafening boom.  
  
And, just like that, Harry forgave him everything he had seen. He collapsed next to Malfoy as tears for a man he had never cared for stung his eyes.  
  
Remus’ voice was overwrought as he approached Malfoy’s back cautiously. “He couldn’t tell you, the vow you made – you would have been compelled to stop him,” he explained hoarsely. Tonks stepped up to her husband’s side and placed a supportive hand on his forearm, she looked pale and wan and her hair was a mousy brunette color that seemed to wash out her already boring brown eyes. Malfoy took no notice of her.  
  
“But you knew.” It was not a question and Malfoy’s features twisted bitterly as the accusation was spat out.  
  
Remus nodded tensely. “I’m sorry, Draco,” was all he seemed capable of offering.  
  
Malfoy said nothing but sat in the unforgivable absence of sound. He wiped the dirt from Snape’s cheek. He folded his robes gently over the man’s still chest. He tucked the black, oily hair behind his ear. He sat back on his heels and his voice was steady and full of reprimand. “He died for you, so what’s your fucking plan then, werewolf?”  
  
Remus’ voice was forceful and strong, unforgiving. “We still need him. He’s the only one who can get close to Voldemort.”  
  
Malfoy scoffed cruelly. “His current state isn’t exactly conducive to walking and talking, is it?”  
  
“Perhaps not,” Remus conceded. He caught Malfoy’s eyes, his own gaze hard like slate. “But he has a full head of hair and Voldemort knows nothing of this.”  
  
Grief nose-dived rapidly into fury as Malfoy’s eyes overflowed with an unspeakable rage. He rose to his feet and attacked viciously, “You can’t – You mother fucking son of a – You can’t!”  
  
Tonks gasped and seemed unable to believe Remus had even suggested such a thing. “It’s too much to ask of him, Remus,” she reprimanded him desolately.  
  
Remus held firm. “We can’t afford to lose the information.”  
  
Tonks’ gaze grew pleading as Malfoy seemed to collapse in on himself like a dying star. Her eyes were bright with empathy. “You can’t ask this of him, to have some perverted mockery of his lover—”  
  
Remus cut her off mercilessly. “Draco has always done what is best for the Order, just as Snape did.” He turned to Malfoy and intoned commandingly, “Do it.”  
  
Malfoy’s gaze hardened and his voice was edged with ice. “You can ask anything else of me.” He glanced at Snape with anguish in his eyes before he turned back to Remus. “But I will not defile him.”  
  
“Then go,” Remus growled dismissively, his tone dispassionate and almost disappointed.  
  
The sky fell around them as Malfoy plummeted to the ground, an upholstered couch catching him as he leaned back and a bottle of three-quarters gone scotch resting winningly at his elbow. He grabbed for it, his eyes puffy and red-rimmed and the sleep that had eluded his brain stored heavy under his lashes. He tossed back a fair amount as a creaking in the distance drew Harry’s concerned gaze to the opening door.  
  
He could only see the top of the wood over the edge of the couch but soon he heard Tonks’ questioning voice. “Don’t you think you’re being too hard on him? He’s just lost his—”  
  
Remus didn’t allow her to finish as he defended, “It’s why I told him not to make attachments! We don’t have time for his pain! He’ll die if he lets it consume him the way Ron did his.”  
  
All was silent for a moment before Tonks added quietly, “You could pretend to be understanding.”  
  
Remus made a low sound of negation and told her callously, “I won’t coddle him. He’s strong, he can handle this, and it’s not up to us to tell him lies in a time like this.”  
  
The library seemed to shake itself like a Muggle Etch A Sketch, light seeping in to empty into the room and Malfoy tossed into a seat on the couch while Remus was thrown into the chair at his side and the hum of undiscovered knowledge droned on around them.  
  
Malfoy looked even worse in this moment than he had in the last. His face was drawn and his eyes were unblinking, dry, and unfocused. Remus watched Malfoy calculatingly. “It is not a weakness to cry for him.”  
  
Malfoy let out a cold, ringing laugh. “What would you know about strength, werewolf?”  
  
Remus sighed. “You forever hide from me. That’s not necessary either, you know.” He looked away and said tightly, “You blame me.”  
  
“In part,” Malfoy replied easily, though there was no reprimand in his voice, only a soft acknowledgment. He smiled a slightly maniacal smile. “Not nearly as much as I blame myself.” He held up his hand before Remus had even opened his mouth. “And, please, no platitudes.”  
  
Remus nodded and placed a paternal hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. “I’m here for you, Draco.”  
  
Malfoy turned and eyed him with something close to revulsion, his lip raised in condescension. “You’re so far from what I want.”  
  
“I know,” Remus agreed unarguably. “There are times when I wish that were different.” Malfoy stiffened and Harry wondered if Remus knew what he had just implied, and from the quiet, grave delivery he thought the man did. His mouth thinned as he told Malfoy, “I care about you, Draco, seeing you like this – know that I take no joy in it.”  
  
He began to rise and Malfoy grabbed his sleeve tentatively. He swallowed and admitted cringingly, “I miss him.”  
  
Remus squeezed his hand. “I know.”  
  
A yellowed glow descended on him as dingy motel walls boxed him in, a battered lamp giving off the harsh illumination. A soiled bed rested in the middle of the room and Malfoy sat upon the edge carelessly, staring at the closed door across from him with a mix of apprehension and anticipation.  
  
Pocked dressers and a wobbly table with gloomy chairs to match were the only other items the room had to boast of and Malfoy glanced around at them all as he waited for something on the other side of the door. They only had to wait a moment longer before that something was revealed.  
  
Severus Snape stood tall and proud in the maw of the doorway. His pose was imperious and his expression haughty and disdaining. He walked into the room and looked down on Malfoy with a sneer. He twisted his wrist and mocked, “I see you’ve gone out of your way to make our stay comfortable, Mr. Malfoy.”  
  
Malfoy, who had been frozen until the man began to speak, clenched his jaw and walked over to him. He smacked Snape’s hand down by his side and informed him coldly, seeming to enjoy the almost bruising tone he used, “No, he never uses his hands to narrate things – down by your sides.” The other man followed his direction and Malfoy nodded approvingly. “Yes, like that. Now, your expression, it’s too open–” This, too, was taken under advisement and his eyebrow rose in a characteristically ‘Snape’ gesture. Malfoy backed away and coughed. “That’s-that’s a bit…”  
  
He retreated and the other man moved close to him, frowning. “Draco?” he asked in concern.  
  
Malfoy let out a low moan and tore away into the bathroom. He leaned over the toilet’s rim and hurled. The other man approached cautiously before he placed a hand on Malfoy’s quivering back. “I’m sorry,” he whispered earnestly. “Are you all right?”  
  
Malfoy waved him away and gasped out, “Just stay away from me, I can’t-I can’t do this right now.”  
  
The room seemed to tilt and rolled Malfoy and the other man into the main room once again. Snape stood before the spotted mirror and contorted his expression into one of almost silly disobedience. “Like this?” he tried.  
  
Malfoy’s voice was edged with exasperation as he exhaled deeply. He spun the other man towards him and said harshly, “No, he would never—”  
  
The other man rearranged his face, his eyes narrowed slightly and his lips quirked in a smirk that Harry had only ever seen on one man—the one who was currently giving it. “This then?” he asked silkily.  
  
Malfoy shivered at the sound, his eyes fluttering closed, and he swallowed heavily. “Severus,” he whispered with hushed anticipation.  
  
The other man moved closer and his voice was laced with confusion and excitement as he said in that same velvety tone, “Draco?”  
  
Malfoy threw himself at the other man, he kissed and nibbled and bit and licked and humped and ground and tore and pushed. He threw Snape down on the bed and all but ripped off his clothing before he did the same to his own. He straddled the other man and stared down at him with raw hunger.  
  
Snape placed his hands on Draco’s hips and swallowed in nervous thrill. “Draco, we—” He buried himself in Malfoy’s chest and admitted, “God, I want you.”  
  
Malfoy groaned and rubbed his cock against Snape’s. “Oh Merlin, Severus.” He moved higher up the other man’s chest and threw his head back, pleading, “Fuck me, I need you, been so empty, can’t think—need you.”  
  
Snape nodded rapidly and helped Malfoy to impale himself on him, a harsh exhalation of, “Draco,” becoming an almost continuous moan. Their fucking was fast and wild and Harry didn’t know whether to stay to see if the man would revert back to his true self or barricade himself in the bathroom to escape the clawing jealousy that was tearing into his chest.  
  
When Malfoy finally came, falling on top of an already sated Snape, he barely wasted a moment to catch his breath before he moved off of him and said coolly, “Get out.” And, at that moment, Harry was glad that it hadn’t been him beneath Malfoy. He would not have survived this chilly dismissal after sharing something so intimate with him, of that he was certain.  
  
It took the other man a moment to regain his bearings before the words hit him. And then there was unmistakable hurt in his voice as he said softly, “Draco.”  
  
Malfoy rolled away from him. “Just get out.”  
  
The world whirled around as darkness fell heavy on top of his head. A glistening alleyway sprung up at his back as two figures stood across from him, their heads resting against the rough brick as they caught their collective breaths.  
  
Malfoy moved first, stealthy and smooth, when the other man caught his hand and pulled him back. Malfoy gazed at him with a question in his eyes and the other man swallowed thickly. “I think I’m falling in love with you,” he said finally, his gaze open and bare.  
  
Malfoy reacted instantly. He pressed the man into the wall with a palpable violence and crushed his forearm over Snape’s gasping windpipe. His face was alive with fury and his teeth were gritted painfully. “How dare you,” he said, his voice shaking with barely suppressed rage. “How dare you say that while you masquerade around in his body.” Malfoy’s eyes flashed and he promised coldly, “Say it again and I swear to you I will kill you, Blaise.”  
  
Snape’s wide, fearful eyes calmed and his mouth pinched tight as Malfoy’s forearm disappeared and his sallow skin brightened with the dappling of sunlight on his collarbone. His gaze was judgmental and unapologetic as he watched Malfoy’s limping form struggle nearer.  
  
“I told you to stay away,” Malfoy hissed before turning on his heel towards his rooms.  
  
“You would have died,” he tossed out coolly, unrepentantly, at the man’s fleeing figure.  
  
Malfoy paused in his attempts at retreat, his palm pressed tight against his heaving side. He didn’t turn, his back stiff as he quietly spoke the stripped truth, “Seeing you _is_ killing me.”  
  
The walls seemed to melt away, leaving beige streaks in their wake as the familiar room with the dark red sheets and the formal furniture came back to him. It took Harry’s eyes a moment to locate his subject but eventually he spotted him, twisted up in the bedding, his bright blond hair buried beneath a pillow as another sound apart from his labored breathing reached Harry’s ears.  
  
He glanced in the direction of the pitiful, heartbreaking mrow to see Eve sitting at the door to the room and scratching at the dark wood with a miserable paw. She curled up at the base of it, her catlike body thin and beaten, and mrowed unrelentingly—her strained agony scraping across Harry’s heart.  
  
Malfoy finally popped up in the bed, his voice furious and strained as he yelled, “Eve!” She stopped instantly but none of the gloom had left her as she raised her head weakly, her sightless eyes despondent. And that’s when Harry saw Malfoy’s face. Tear streaks dirtied his pale skin and snot seemed to have found its way to his nightshirt, his hair, his cheeks. He wiped at his red nose, his face splotchy and his eyes puffy and swollen, red-rimmed and remorseful. His voice was nothing more than a croaky scratch as he demanded shakily, “Eve, enough. He’s not coming back, damn it!”  
  
And if Harry hadn’t already forgiven him then this would have done it. It was the most human moment he had ever seen, from anyone let alone Malfoy.  
  
The Cornish cliffs jutted up from the ground like destructive, cutting knives that sliced the sky in two and Harry joined Malfoy as they were caught atop a ragged, rocky top. The uneven ground unbalanced him and Harry shook slightly as he regained his center. Malfoy was next to him, his wand clenched tight in his remorseless fist.  
  
He looked a bit sick through the forced determination as he glared straight ahead of him. And Harry realized that their constant companion atop these stony overhangs was once again with them.  
  
Remus was worn, more so than Harry had ever seen him. His visage was a disharmony of scars and lined with a dimness that seemed off in his youthful face.  
  
His voice was hardly a croak, cracking horribly as he encouraged with a grimace, “I know, Draco. Know that I hold no blame.” He knelt in the muck and the grime, his head hanging. “Do it before the others arrive,” he commanded harshly.  
  
Malfoy’s face twisted horribly, anger and agony in the lines around his eyes as he mocked, “So eager to go to your death, werewolf?”  
  
Remus looked up, shocked, and he stood before Malfoy with a tenderness to his gaze. He held him by the shoulders and said softly, “Draco. No masks, no varnish, no hiding your pain, look at me.” Malfoy did not oblige him and continued to glance away as Remus brushed a wind-tousled lock of hair behind Malfoy’s ear. “You were as good as a son to me,” he informed him sincerely.  
  
Malfoy looked up at that and practically threw himself into Remus’ arms as he choked, “Remus.”  
  
Remus held him tightly, ferociously, and whispered into his ear as Malfoy cleaved to him, “I have Nymphadora and my son waiting for me and when you go to yours you’ll have Severus.” He petted Malfoy’s hair with a gentle hand and said, smiling, “This can’t be the end, Draco.”  
  
Malfoy moved away, his eyes dry but pained, as Remus said proudly, “You’ll have to lead them now and I have every faith in you.”  
  
Remus squeezed Malfoy’s shoulders and gazed at him with open trust and compassion. “I’m so proud of you and the man you’ve become.”  
  
Malfoy looked small, as if Remus had hacked him down in size, and he nodded thickly. Remus placed a hand on Malfoy’s cheek and nodded back. Tender olive green eyes looked straight into devastated grey as Malfoy raised his wand and spoke the hated words, “ _Avada Kedavra_.”  
  
Harry rocketed skyward as Remus’ body fell, Malfoy collapsing onto his knees beside him, but the scene was already blurring as he was thrown up, up, up and hurled out of the Pensieve with all the ceremony befitting an unwelcome guest. He landed hard on his rear end, his head spinning and his toes wiggling in the open air. He got to his feet unsteadily, everything he wanted to say to Malfoy cramming itself into his mouth at once.  
  
And he decided all of it could wait, what he wanted—the only thing he wanted—was to be there for Malfoy. To let him know that Harry’s feelings were unchanged, that if anything they had grown stronger. He wanted to care and be cared for. But, above all, he wanted Malfoy. Just Malfoy.  
  
He turned with sympathetic, sensitive green eyes toward the doorway only to find that Malfoy was gone, disappeared just like the last gasping memory of a broken man.

  
_Your thoughts in my head._

Harry had a good idea of where he would find Malfoy and, with a twisting sensation in his guts, he set off in that direction. As he walked the short distance to the study, he replayed some of the more gruesome scenes from the Pensieve almost against his will. And he had no doubt that the worst of them—at least what Malfoy considered the worst of them—hadn’t been present at all. Somehow, he knew that there were things Malfoy was still keeping from him, if only because he couldn’t stomach reliving them himself.  
  
He was certain that the origin of Malfoy’s hatred of the word ‘Master’ was something that would go to his grave with him. He could show Harry all the people he’d killed but not the people he’d violated and broken and Harry didn’t blame him for that. He didn’t want to know Malfoy that way because, while he was sure he could come to forgive him the acts, it would irrevocably warp his perception of him. And his image of Malfoy had suffered through enough over the last few hours.  
  
It was still that of a hero, but a severely tarnished one. Harry thought that might be the only kind when it came to war. In a way though, Harry appreciated Malfoy even more than he had before his trip into some of the man’s worst moments because Malfoy had never, not once and despite how easy it would’ve been, lied to Harry. He had never acted the saint even though Harry would have bought the line happily, and for far more than it was worth.  
  
Harry also noticed that the evolution of Malfoy and You Know Who’s relationship had been mostly left out and he had no doubt that it was due to the painful journey it had taken to get from the station of follower to the Dark Lord’s lover. Harry could only imagine what he had done to Malfoy and when he did he had to calm himself before he started destroying things indiscriminately.  
  
He had only seen Malfoy’s pain peripherally in most of the shifting scenes and even that had been too much. He was certain he couldn’t have withstood anything more and he was glad Malfoy hadn’t placed those moments into his cache of memories.  
  
He paused outside the door to the study, trying to arrange what he was going to say to Malfoy in his head before he just burst in and fell upon the man with forgiveness and acceptance. He couldn’t get the words right, mostly because he couldn’t predict what state Malfoy would be in when he opened the door, and he quickly gave it up as a bad job.  
  
He turned the knob and the door whined open without resistance.  
  
Eve looked up at the sound of the creak from the foot of Malfoy’s chair, her seemingly sightless eyes glinting at him in the crackling flames from the grate. Malfoy was pressed far back into the green upholstery of his chair and there was a drink that had to be at least three fingers full—and who knew how many he had had by now—on the armrest. Malfoy looked away with his lips pinched tight and his voice was full of a dull, dark fury as he said, “Why seek me out? You must be disgusted.”  
  
Harry understood at once. The thought ‘ _you thought this would part me from you_ ’ flashed across his brain quickly. Malfoy must have been so sure it would break Harry of his devotion, that it would leave him rocking and crying into his pillow, begging to be released from this monster. And Harry realized that while _he_ had forgiven Malfoy, Malfoy wasn’t likely to _ever_ forgive himself.  
  
Harry walked over to him softly but determinedly. He settled onto the footrest of Malfoy’s chair and plucked the drink from his limp fingers. He placed it on the floor gently before directing his gaze back to Malfoy’s stormy grey eyes. Malfoy scowled, looking as if he wanted to say something, but he kept his tongue.  
  
Harry placed his hand on Malfoy’s cheek tenderly, his green eyes gleaming, and Malfoy blanched and tried to move out of range. Harry wouldn’t let him. He used just enough force to keep Malfoy still and staring at him. He said seriously, “You’re beautiful.” Malfoy snorted, looking as if he was about to disagree, vehemently, but Harry placed a finger from his other hand across the man’s lips. “You’ve done… some of the ugliest things I could ever have imagined a person could do,” he admitted. He stroked the velvety skin of Malfoy’s cheek faintly. “But _you_ are beautiful.”  
  
“You’re delusional,” Malfoy muttered, his lip raised in self-disgust.  
  
Harry wanted to shake him, to scream at him, to make Malfoy see what he saw when he looked at him. He wasn’t perfect but he was good, he was better than anyone had the right to expect him to be and he was human and Harry was mad about him. Why couldn’t he see what he was worth?  
  
Harry removed his hand from Malfoy’s lips and slipped it between the other man’s slack fingers, which still rested where his drink had been. He moved closer, pressing his forehead to Malfoy’s temple, and breathed, “You’re worth more than just loyalty to me, Malfoy. I would follow you even if you led me straight into Devil’s Snare.”  
  
Instead of looking reassured by this, Malfoy looked angry and he demanded furiously, “Why?”  
  
Harry pulled back in surprise and blinked. “Because I’ve seen the truth of you,” he said honestly. “Luna had it right.” Malfoy looked pained but Harry just lifted Malfoy’s chin and said when he held his gaze, “You’re a good man.”  
  
Malfoy looked away and swallowed heavily. “You could have crushed me,” he said lowly, as though afraid he might be giving Harry the idea.  
  
Harry shook his head. “Crushing you _is_ crushing me.” He squeezed Malfoy’s fingers tighter. “I could never hurt you.”  
  
Malfoy lowered his head into his hands, shaking off Harry’s, and closed his eyes. “After all the things I’ve done—your friends—there’s only one man who deserves your kindness less,” he responded hoarsely after a few minutes had passed.  
  
Harry’s eyes narrowed and he said forcefully, “He is not a man.” He quelled the urge to touch Malfoy again, knowing he had been politely but firmly rebuffed, and said softly, “And war is awful, you did the best you could and you’ve lost just as dearly as I have.” Malfoy nodded his head but Harry could see he did not believe the words; he simply believed that Harry believed them.  
  
“You were so sure I would hate you,” Harry guessed quietly.  
  
“Yes,” Malfoy answered without hesitation. His eyes were red when he glared up at Harry, his steel orbs flashing. “I would hate you if our positions were reversed.”  
  
Harry couldn’t help himself and he pushed Malfoy’s hair back from his forehead. “No,” he answered with certainty, “you would have been through what I have and you would know what true evil looks like. You are not it by far, Malfoy.”  
  
Malfoy scoffed and his lips curled cruelly. “I’m not good, Potter.”  
  
Harry sighed, knowing Malfoy would never believe it but unable to keep himself from asserting vehemently, “You are.” He placed his hand over Malfoy’s chest, feeling the distant and dull thump of his weary heart. “I can see your heart and it’s in the right place. Even if you’re not always doing the right thing,” he whispered, believing those words more fiercely than he had ever believed anything.  
  
Malfoy looked up at him, his gaze filling with a sort of guarded gratitude and Harry gave in to the emotions sweeping through him as those strong yet broken grey eyes blazed into him. He leaned forward and, before he could think better of it, he pressed his lips to Malfoy’s in a quick kiss.  
  
It lasted barely more than a second but in that single moment Harry’s heart felt like it might burst. He had never felt so strongly in his entire life, not when You Know Who was sharing his brain, or when he had lost Dumbledore, or even the first time he had rode a broom. This, well, Harry was quite certain people weren’t meant to feel things that intensely.  
  
There was a large part of him that wanted to sob the second he pulled away because he was certain it would be the last time. And those last two words seemed to beat against his temples relentlessly. But also because it had been so perfect and his entire being had seemed to swell with it and he didn’t know of a better way of expressing himself than to simply cry. The rest of him, however, wanted to laugh about how good he felt.  
  
He supposed he shouldn’t be so surprised—the only place that had felt like home since Hogwarts was Malfoy’s bed, it made a certain kind of sense that the only way he could feel good was Malfoy’s mouth—but he was.  
  
His throat felt swollen with a strange kind of ecstasy and a sheen had come over his eyes that he was afraid to blink away, lest his tears should start to fall. He pulled back further and stared down at his own feet, laughter bubbling in his breast. He couldn’t look at Malfoy, he _couldn’t_.  
  
The scene of him telling Blaise to get out only moments after they’d made love pounded in his head. He would break if Malfoy told him to leave, just simply shatter.  
  
Malfoy still said nothing but now he was moving. He stood up, leaned down just far enough to grab his drink off the floor, circumvented Harry and strode out of the study without a word.  
  
Harry gave in to both his instincts at once and gave little hiccupping laughs through his choking, racking tears.

* * *

Harry awoke disoriented. He was certain he had fallen asleep in the study when he had been too exhausted to cry anymore and too hoarse to laugh but he was in his own bed. Malfoy. Harry blushed brightly, his rational side trying to butt in that it had likely been a house-elf and that Malfoy hadn’t given two shits about where Harry slept, but Harry refused to listen and went off in search of Malfoy.  
  
He was disappointed but he couldn’t bring himself to be angry. Malfoy had been kinder about the situation than Harry had any right to expect him to be. He hadn’t demanded that Harry leave or tried to hurt him or even yelled at him.  
  
He couldn’t bring himself to regret kissing Malfoy though either.  
  
He heard sounds coming from the landing below and he leaned his head over the railing. What he found was a perfect view of the parlor where Snape—Blaise—and Malfoy were standing in front of the fire. “Your solution then?” Zabini was saying, his voice thankfully just loud enough to carry over the popping of the grate.  
  
Malfoy sighed and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “We proceed as if Potter truly was dead,” he determined gravely. Harry started at the sound of his own name and strained his ears further.  
  
Zabini frowned and reached out a hand to steady Malfoy. A rather deranged part of Harry wanted to tear it off. “Draco—” he started warily.  
  
“He’s not the same man,” Malfoy cut across him forcefully. He shook his head and lamented, “He has no heart for this. He’s been broken.” Malfoy snorted and said bitterly, “The boy who stepped up to ride the Hippogriff afraid to fly. You should have seen him near Eve, a skittish colt.” Malfoy sighed, heavier this time, and slumped down onto the window seat. “His fight is gone, it’s ours alone, perhaps as it was always meant to be.”

* * *

Over the next few days, Malfoy went an impressive amount of time without speaking more than two words to Harry. It made Harry miserable but he tried to count his blessings, at least Malfoy hadn’t said his kiss was pathetic or called him disgusting or anything horrible like that. He just wanted space, the kiss combined with sharing his memories had probably been too much all at once and Harry was more than willing to give Malfoy whatever he needed.  
  
So when Malfoy grabbed his arm as he went to remove the plate from in front of him and take it to the kitchen Harry was shocked into inaction almost instantly. Malfoy looked tired and just like every other meal they’d shared, he had at least three books piled about him. His gaze refocused onto the mark— _his_ mark—on Harry’s arm and he growled threateningly, “This fucking mark.”  
  
Harry trembled slightly, Malfoy looked almost mindless in his exhaustion and desperation. “I don’t mind it,” Harry tried timidly. It was true, he didn’t. He thought it was attractive and he even reluctantly admitted to himself, only in the darkness of his bedroom, that he liked the idea of being branded by Malfoy.  
  
“What’re you, a house-elf now?” Malfoy mocked cruelly. He threw Harry’s arm away from him. “Content in your enslavement, perfectly happy in your reliance on me, you’ve been _severed_ from your magic and you _don’t mind_ it?” He was snarling now.  
  
Harry dropped his gaze and murmured quietly, “I don’t need it when I’m with you. I’m safe here.”  
  
That seemed to deflate Malfoy entirely and the fight seeped out of him. He shook his head wearily and placed his elbows on the table, dropping his head into his hands. “And when you aren’t,” he asked softly. “When my duplicity’s discovered and I’ve been disposed of?”  
  
Harry’s eyes flashed and he gritted forcefully, staring straight at Malfoy, “It won’t happen. I won’t let it happen.”  
  
Malfoy laughed coldly. “You’re pathetic. You _can’t_ protect me,” he said violently. “You can’t even protect yourself.” Now he did look disgusted with Harry and he pushed back from the table distastefully as he rose to his feet, disturbing Eve who had been resting under his chair as a slumbering koala.  
  
“Where are you going?” Harry asked quickly, terrified that Malfoy might simply up and leave him here altogether.  
  
Malfoy glanced at him as though Harry were something nasty he had found on the bottom of his shoe. “He has books on this, on these types of bonds.” He sneered. “I’m going to rid you of it and _make_ you stand on your own two feet.”  
  
Harry lunged at him, shouting, “No!” He latched onto Malfoy’s arm and tried to tug him back towards the table, pleading, “It’s suicide, He’ll kill you if you’re caught. Please don’t go.”  
  
Malfoy yanked his arm out of Harry’s grip and informed him icily, “One of us has to stop acting the coward.” He paused and asked with a quirk to his lips, “Who would have thought it’d be me?”  
  
“No, Malfoy, stop!” Harry pleaded desperately as he stalked off toward the fireplace and certain death. He ran after him but, before he could reach him, a silver blur shot past him at waist height and brought Malfoy down hard.  
  
It took Harry a moment to process the scene before him and, when he had, he gasped aloud in shock. Eve had tackled Malfoy, her body transformed into a writhing and twisting boa the size of which he had never seen before. She had wrapped her body around Malfoy, effectively stopping him from doing anything more than breathing.  
  
Harry could see different parts of her squeezing Malfoy separately and gently as if in silent apology but she did not let go.  
  
Harry couldn’t make sense of it. Eve responded to Malfoy’s desires, and Malfoy clearly desire to leave—or had he misunderstood and she could deviate when it was in Malfoy’s best interest?  
  
“M-Malfoy?” Harry tried tentatively.  
  
It was as if his voice had broken the spell and Eve slowly began to loosen her death grip on him. Malfoy looked absolutely shell-shocked and Harry watched him, his concern growing thicker as Malfoy’s eyes widened and he sat up, seeming nerveless. Harry took a step forward and Malfoy’s head snapped around before he bit out, “Stay away from me.”  
  
Harry froze, the ice in Malfoy’s tone cutting at him so painfully that he had trouble breathing for a moment. “But—”  
  
Malfoy shook his head, still looking lost and wholly confused. “Leave it, Potter,” he demanded as he finally managed to get up off the floor and stalk away up the stairs.  
  
Harry sat in his room, staring morosely at the dark coverlet and berating himself. He had no doubt that Malfoy was furious with him once again and this time he had no idea what he’d done. Maybe it all had to do with that one little kiss. Maybe Malfoy really hadn’t taken it as well as he’d thought.  
  
There was a sound at his bedroom door and Harry sat up straighter, anticipation flooding him as the knob turned. Eve slunk into his room, cornea-scarring bright in the darkness, and prowled up to his bed before pouncing onto the mattress gracefully in the form of a tigress. Harry tried not to let his disappointment show.  
  
There was something clutched in between her teeth and she set it down carefully at his feet, afterwards resting her shaggy head on her front paws tiredly.  
  
Harry looked at it curiously. “Eve?” he questioned. “What’s this?”  
  
Her only response was a rather impressive yawn. Harry sighed and turned on the light at his bedside. It was a book, that much was obvious, and when he flipped to the table of contents he realized it was a book about _her_. Harry wasn’t sure why Eve had brought it to him but, deciding he couldn’t really spurn the only friend he had, he turned to the first page and started to read.  
  
He didn’t know how long he’d been at it when he froze over the words he’d just read towards the end of chapter thirteen:  
  
  
 _A Stannum will only bond to an owner that it feels a certain kinship toward, a familiarity with, and a loyalty to. In some cases, this bond develops within the first few seconds of interaction, however, if yours does not bond to you immediately do not panic. I reiterate: do not panic! Oftentimes this can take weeks, months or, in some rare instances, even years. Once this bond is formed it cannot be broken. When the human half dies so will the Stannum, there can be no one without the other once your Stannum has chosen you. This bond is finite and it cannot be transferred or severed through any means, magical or otherwise.  
  
However, in a handful of cases the bond has been augmented by a linking. Once a Stannum bonds, it is susceptible to the moods, emotions, and thoughts of the person it has bonded to. This is common knowledge and what is expected of a bonded Stannum. Yet, there are some Stannums who bond so deeply with their partners that they go above and beyond the call of duty and will even link with those the bonded deem important.  
  
Strong emotions toward a fellow human being will often cause these devoted Stannum to link to that person, believing that to be the wish of their bonded mate. These emotions usually include—but are not limited to: gratitude, fondness, respect, hate (in one extremely curious instance), and most often—love.  
  
What a linking refers to here is someone who is not the bonded mate gaining control over the Stannum. The Stannum will often seek this person out when they sense their bonded wishes to be alone or is absent. In short, a linked person is a second in command if you will. In few moments, the Stannum may defer to their linked companion over that of their bonded’s wishes if they believe those wishes might bring harm to their chosen mate. This most often occurs—_  
  
  
The book fell from Harry’s nerveless fingers and he breathed aloud in disbelief, “You’ve linked to _me_ ,” while the words _and most often—love_ danced in and out of his field of vision like sugarplums.

  
_Nightmares gnaw at this facade._

The fire burned so bright that Harry thought his eyes might be permanently blinded. He swung around, the vast whiteness turning with him until he managed to blink it away. Ron was standing before him like some kind of wrathful god while the fire crept closer to his heels. His arms were crossed over his chest and his wand hung useless in his freckled hand. He sneered and hissed, “You’re pathetic.”  
  
The blaze was lapping at Ron’s ankles and Harry grabbed him by the shoulder and _tugged_ but Ron didn’t so much as budge. “Ron, come on, we have to go,” Harry pleaded as he yanked at Ron’s robes. Why wouldn’t he _move_?  
  
Ron pushed him off and took a step back into the flames. His face contorted and he stared at Harry in hurt and betrayal. “I thought you must be dead,” he whispered while the light from the blaze silhouetted him dramatically. “You wouldn’t abandon us, not the great Harry Potter,” he mocked, “not when we were fighting _your_ war, but that’s exactly what you did, isn’t it?” His blue eyes blared _traitor_ and Harry fell to his knees, shaking his head so diligently that he was starting to feel dizzy. “Because it was too _hard_ and you were too _tired_ ,” he ridiculed in a baby-ish voice that cut into Harry’s ribs painfully. “Do you know how many people _died_ for you?”  
  
A sob caught in Harry’s throat as he looked up at Ron, on fire from the waist down. “I never asked them to,” he bemoaned, his stomach aching and a plea for understanding in his voice. “I never wanted—”  
  
“To be a hero?” Ron snapped violently. He reached down and grabbed Harry by the back of his hair. His hands were like irons and Harry cried out when they fisted his locks hard enough to rip out handfuls. He forced Harry’s head up and hissed into his face, “Well then, don’t fret. I don’t think you were anyone’s at the end. Certainly not mine, definitely not ‘Mione’s.”  
  
Tears were pouring silently down his cheeks as he begged for forgiveness and compassion. “Ron, I didn’t mean for this. I never wanted this, you have to know that.”  
  
Ron’s fist tightened and he threw Harry down to the muddy floor. “And what have you done to prove it, Harry?” he demanded. “You hide out in Malfoy’s bed and long for him to fuck you while he spends his nights getting brutalized by You Know Who. Even him, who you claim to care so much for, his pain isn’t enough to pull you out of hiding.” Ron took another step away from Harry while the flames consumed his back, his gaze harsh but pained. Harry strangled out a burbled ‘no’ but Ron didn’t seem to be listening. “You’re useless and weak. I can’t believe I ever admired _you_. And I did, Harry. Turns out the real Harry Potter is nothing more than a coward and a liar.” Ron’s gaze turned accusing. “You said you’d protect us, Harry. Some protection you turned out to be.”  
  
Ron took his final steps into the leaping flames until all Harry could see was smoke and the smooth dance of yellow and orange as they guzzled up fiery red. “Ron, no!” Harry screamed as he pulled himself to his feet and made to charge into the grinning flames.  
  
The first rush of heat hit him like a sharp slap and Harry’s eyes fluttered open to find Malfoy standing over him, his palm raised and his lip curled in disdain. “Potter, enough,” he was saying as he gripped Harry’s shoulder. “Potter, come on, wake up.”  
  
Harry coughed and wiped at his eyes, finding his cheeks cold and damp. He swiped at them hastily and asked blearily, “Malfoy?”  
  
He turned to find Eve nuzzling him shyly at his side and Malfoy’s features contorted into a sneer. “You’re flooding her with your emotions,” he hissed unsympathetically, gesturing to Eve. “Get control of yourself,” he tossed over his shoulder coldly as he swept out of the room.

* * *

Malfoy’s cold dismissal weighted Harry down the next morning but the burden was lessened considerably by the fact that Harry knew. Harry knew how Malfoy felt about him and as much as he wanted to hide from that, the sad fact was, he couldn’t. Because Harry _knew_.  
  
Malfoy glanced up at him as Harry took the seat opposite him at the head of the table and Harry felt a thrill steal through him that Malfoy couldn’t keep his eyes off him. A ridiculous fantasy tripped through his head and Harry ducked to hide his blush. He had imagined himself as that pretty damsel in that Muggle fairytale he’d overheard Petunia reading to Dudley one night, the one who was kidnapped by a beast and eventually, through compassion and patience, turned him into a prince.  
  
Malfoy was still staring at him when Harry felt brave enough to face his beast and his blush deepened. Malfoy frowned and noted, “You’re still in my things.”  
  
Harry was confused for a moment before he glanced down at himself. He was wearing Malfoy’s clothes. He looked up and nodded warily.  
  
Malfoy shook out the _Prophet_ and threw out disinterestedly, “We’re going to get you your own trappings today.” And, for a split second, Harry could picture Lucius Malfoy sitting exactly where Malfoy was sitting now and telling a young Malfoy the same.  
  
He pulled his long sleeves down over his hands and hugged his shirt closer to himself. He wanted to tell Malfoy that he felt safer in his clothes, warmer in his socks, comforted in his trousers but he didn’t want Malfoy to call him out for the coward he was again. Ron had done a good enough job of that the night before.  
  
He buried his face in his shoulder and inhaled deeply; he still smelled faintly of Malfoy, which was simply a soap clean scent with a bit of musk if Harry was lucky and snuck the clothes out of the wash before the house-elves could get to them. He sighed and quietly agreed to the outing even as he felt crushed that Malfoy wanted to take away this one bit of closeness Harry had to him.  
  
Hours later, Harry dragged himself down the stairs, Malfoy’s gloves on his fingers, which meant they were about an inch too long and made his own fingers look alien and fleshless at the tips, and a scarf thrown haphazardly around his neck.  
  
“Ready?” Malfoy queried and Harry nodded desolately.  
  
Malfoy wrapped an arm around his shoulder and Harry threw himself at him, wrapping his arms around Malfoy in a tight hug and hiding his face in the man’s neck. It felt so _good_ to be like this with Malfoy that Harry could barely stand it.  
  
He felt the sharp squeeze of Apparition and opened his eyes to find himself back in the remnants of Diagon Alley. Harry squinted and voiced his thoughts aloud. “Aren’t there other places to shop now that Diagon’s…” He couldn’t bring himself to say _destroyed_.  
  
“And who would be the main patrons, Potter?” Harry shrugged, confused. Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Death Eaters and their sympathizers.” Malfoy fingered Harry’s bare neck. “I didn’t know you missed the collar so much.”  
  
Malfoy’s mouth was quirked a bit and it was clear that was meant as a joke, albeit a weak one, but Harry was feeling bolstered by Eve’s revelation and drew himself up against Malfoy, grabbing him by the front of his robes and pressing himself to Malfoy’s lean body, and said huskily, “I miss the feeling of being owned by you.”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes widened, not in arousal or even shock as Harry might have thought, but instead they deepened into an infuriatingly genuine pity. Harry pushed away, anger and defeat pulsing all the way down to his fingernails.  
  
Harry hunched his shoulders as he crossed his arms over his chest and bit out, “Should we stop by Gringotts first?” He rounded on Malfoy after a full minute of silence to find him perking an eyebrow at him. He was about to growl out an interrogation as to what Malfoy was feeling so fucking smug about when he realized exactly how stupid the question had been. He kicked at a charred piece of rubble and muttered, “Right. Guess money doesn’t really matter much anymore.”  
  
He turned to find Malfoy gazing around at the remains of the buildings as if trying to figure out which was which. The sun was just beginning to set behind him and low rays were striking strong against his shoulders and neck as they jutted out over a rooftop. The rest of him was left in shadow but his face was haloed in a red glow as if to highlight him as the anti-hero, not the savior but not the villain. He was some sort of indefinable in-between, one that made Harry ache with want. Malfoy turned back to Harry to find him staring and whispered, “None of it matters.”  
  
He gestured toward one of the shops and took off at a brisk pace. Harry glared at his back and declared quietly, “I don’t believe that, even if you do.” He rushed to catch up with Malfoy and slid his hand into the man’s limp fingers as they swung at his side when he did.  
  
Malfoy stopped in absolute shock and stared down at their linked hands. “Potter—”  
  
Harry squeezed Malfoy’s fingers tighter and asked in absolute exasperation, “Can we just not for one day? I don’t want to hear how doomed or one-sided this is today. I just want to hold your hand and feel normal for as long as we both can stand it, okay?”  
  
Malfoy stared at him before he finally cleared his throat and conceded, “If you like.”  
  
“I would,” he said genuinely as Malfoy’s fingers went from utterly lax to firm around his own. He leaned his head against Malfoy’s shoulder and closed his eyes, trusting Malfoy to lead him. “I really would, Malfoy.”

* * *

Malfoy found Twilfitt & Tatting's without much difficulty and when Harry whinged that he preferred Madam Malkin’s, Malfoy had rolled his eyes and said it was time he started dressing like an adult. He kicked aside the dilapidated and fire-charred door with ease and Harry was momentarily surprised that he hadn’t used magic, but he eventually contented himself with the idea that Malfoy probably just needed to kick something.

He slipped his wand from his sleeve and made a calamitous amount of noise as he tromped through the wreckage. Harry sat in the windowsill, as instructed, with an overwrought pout at both being told not to move and not being able to wear casual robes.  
  
He levered himself off the sill and picked up a burnt piece of wood that had been snapped off into a sharp point and poked the end with his fingertip. It immediately broke the skin and a bubble of blood swelled at the tip. Feeling monumentally stupid, he wondered if he might be able to convince Malfoy he’d been poisoned and the only cure was to suck it out.  
  
His dreamy grin crumbled as he realized Malfoy would probably only walk in, see the blood, call him an idiot, and leave. He stared at the puncture and had a sudden flash of Malfoy leaning over Snape, looking at him with soft eyes and asking if he was all right while he pressed a tender kiss to the wound. That was what Malfoy looked like in love.  
  
 _No_ , Harry thought desperately, _it wouldn’t look exactly the same. Sure, Malfoy would never love him the way he had Snape but that’s just because love was defined by the individual who was loved, right? So who cared if Malfoy was catty and closed off with him, he still loved him, right? Oh fuck, oh Merlin… no._  
  
And suddenly it hit him like a ton of bricks—Malfoy didn’t love him. Harry’s knees felt weak and his stomach was cramped and pained as though someone had just punched him. “You don’t love me,” Harry breathed as his legs gave out beneath him and he collapsed onto a broken down crate, his eyes were wet and warm and his breathing was choppy and slicing.  
  
And though Malfoy was near, he didn’t seem to have heard and was moving deeper into the shop when Harry called out in a shaky voice, “It isn’t love, is it?”  
  
Malfoy didn’t stop his forward momentum and soon he was out of sight completely, utterly ignoring Harry.  
  
He should have expected that really but Harry was unbelievably ripped apart by it. He buried his face in his hands as he tried to smother his tears and snot rolled down onto his lip. But Malfoy had just been making a circuitous route and came in through the door at Harry’s right. “What are you on about?” he asked in distracted confusion before he caught sight of Harry’s face.  
  
Harry looked up at him and Malfoy’s gaze went wide, and he was clearly wondering what the hell had happened in the few minutes he’d been gone to make Harry start sobbing like a little girl. But Harry couldn’t help himself and his chest was heaving and his words were interrupted by the occasional hiccough as he clarified, “Why Eve responds to me, it’s not love. You don’t love me.” He swiped at his face as Malfoy’s expression became closed and calculating. Harry sniffed and added, “But for Snape – he could control her, couldn’t he? And that was love, wasn’t it?” He blinked up at Malfoy and realized painfully, “But you’re broken of it. Aren’t you? Even if you wanted—Even if you wanted to love me you wouldn’t be able, would you?” Malfoy was still staring at him with the same shrewd look and Harry couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t denying any of it. Harry felt as if Malfoy’s firm fingers had closed around his heart instead of his hand and were squeezing mercilessly.  
  
He threw himself to his feet and spat, “Fuck you and your goddamn silence, Malfoy!” before he tore out of the shop.  
  
Harry had barely even gotten three steps before Malfoy caught up to him. “Potter,” Malfoy was gazing at him seriously and he said in a grave tone, “it’s respect, I respect you.”  
  
Harry’s mouth gaped in disbelief. “How?” he managed to choke out. “I can’t even fight for you. It’s all you want of me and I’m too—”  
  
Malfoy’s gaze softened and he pulled Harry to the ground as he sank to his own knees. Harry landed hard while Malfoy knelt gracefully before him, his eyes intense and almost feral. Malfoy croaked, “What you saw—I opened my mind to you and you could have—you could have walked its horrors and called me out for the monster I see in the mirror each morning.” He took Harry’s hand and pressed it to his own breast, the rebellious beat of his heart thumping hard against Harry’s fingers. “But you saw my heart when I damn near forgot it existed.” He leaned his forehead against Harry’s and closed his eyes. “I respect you because down to the bone you are still Harry Potter. You are Dumbledore’s man and you see the best in people. More importantly, you see the best in _me_.” He brushed his thumb over the scar on Harry’s brow, hard, as though he were trying to scrub it away. “And it’s been a long while since I’ve believed there _was_ a best in me, Potter,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly.  
  
Harry bundled him closer and whispered back desperately, “You know how I feel, don’t you? What you mean to me, it’s—”  
  
Malfoy opened his eyes and gritted out, “I know.”  
  
Their lips were so close, if Malfoy rejected him now… “Does it upset you?” He hated how small and beseeching his voice sounded.  
  
Malfoy laughed shortly and the breath of it banked against Harry’s lips, drying the slickness of them and leaving Harry yearning and panting for Malfoy’s mouth to wet them again. “Upset me?” he parroted back. “That one of the most good-hearted people I’ve ever come to know can find something of value in me? No, Potter, it doesn’t upset me.” Malfoy started to stand when he stilled half-raised and sighed, admitting, “But it does make me sad.”  
  
Harry started. “Why?”  
  
Malfoy stood fully and held out his hand for Harry’s. “Because you deserve better,” he said quietly. “Because in your own way you’re settling for me, for your provider, for your caretaker. It’s gratitude that’s become confused for affection.” Harry started to shake his head when Malfoy held up his free hand to stop him, the other caught in Harry’s unrelenting grip. “I know you don’t believe that and nothing I can say will ever change your mind of it but that’s the reality.”  
  
Harry pulled himself up with Malfoy’s help and he cupped Malfoy’s cheek. “No, you just have trouble believing it because you refuse to acknowledge that you’re worthwhile,” Harry said, tenderness in his eyes and honesty in his voice. “You think the misdeeds you’ve committed outweigh the good. That somehow all the bad you’ve done has stripped you of your humanity and your ability to care for another human being but nothing can do that, Malfoy. You’re human and you’re flawed and you’re perfect.”  
  
Malfoy glanced away uncertainly and swallowed. “It’s highly likely that I will never return your feelings, Potter.”  
  
Harry drew his eyes back and growled, “Good job I don’t feel this way just to get something in return then, eh?” Malfoy nodded in concession and Harry lowered his head, saying softly, “I’m sorry, by the way. I… I never got a chance to say, but I am sorry that you lost him. And-and for all that followed.”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes were bright when he acknowledged, “Thank you, Potter.”

* * *

Harry’s eyes snapped open as he heard Malfoy shouting, “Potter! Potter, wake up!” Malfoy realized he was awake and told him informatively, “It’s just a dream, you were asleep, you’re fine.”  
  
Harry would really have to teach him to put more inflection in his voice, so it might actually sound as if he _cared_. Which Harry believed he actually did, just not as much as Harry wanted him to.  
  
Harry nodded to show he understood while the nightmare came back in waves of grisly intensity. “I-I was just standing there,” he choked out. “My f-friends, they were looking for me, calling out for me and I was just… I was just fucking _standing there_.”  
  
Malfoy frowned. “Potter—”  
  
But Harry shook his head to stop him. “They thought I was dead. Ron-Ron said right before y-you—” but that was not something Harry thought he could ever bring himself to voice and he started again, “He said I was… He thought I was dead. Because I wasn’t fucking fighting. Because _I_ gave up. I-I let You Kn—I let V-Voldemort have his way and I gave up.” Harry’s voice was hoarse as if he had actually spent the night screaming, and for all he knew he had. “I’m supposed to be a fucking hero, Malfoy, and I just gave up! I let the world, I let my friends, I let everything fall to ruin.” Harry twisted his sheets in sweaty fists and said viciously, “I _let_ Voldemort win, I let him change the world because it meant that I didn’t have to fight anymore. And I was so fucking _tired_ of fighting.” Harry snorted in disgust as angry tears broke through. “I-I’m nothing more than a c-coward and a murderer. I _killed_ my friends. If they had known I was still—They would have fought harder, they wouldn’t have given up _hope_ ,” Harry screeched, voice strained and self-deprecating. “God, Malfoy, I should have been the one to die. They were the brave ones, they were the ones who kept fighting, they were the _saviors_.”  
  
Malfoy sat down on the edge of Harry’s bed closest to him, his features unreadable. “Finished, Potter?” he asked emotionlessly.  
  
Harry scoffed. “Not hardly.”  
  
Malfoy smirked coolly. “Self-pity is better than impotence then?”  
  
Harry clenched his jaw, scooted closer to Malfoy, and placed his hand brazenly on the man’s limp cock. “You’re one to bring up impotence.”  
  
“Potter,” Malfoy tried wearily, but he made no move to remove Harry’s hand.  
  
“Please,” Harry whispered in desperation as he climbed into Malfoy’s lap and fisted his uninterested cock while his own rose to the occasion. “I want to touch you so badly,” he breathed into Malfoy’s ear.  
  
Malfoy threw him down on the bed and trapped Harry’s hands above his head, his eyes flecked with ice and reprimand. “To escape what you’re feeling now, yes,” he hissed judgmentally, “the panic, the anxiety, the guilt, the remorse, the horror of watching your friend die while you stood immobile and powerless.” Malfoy ground his thigh into Harry’s erection and accused, “You want to bury yourself in what little warmth I have to offer as if that can make you forget.”  
  
“It’s more than that,” Harry panted back, equal parts affronted and needy.  
  
“No, Potter,” Malfoy said, shaking his head while Harry rode his thigh, “there’s always something to run from.” Harry whined and arched into Malfoy as he crooned, “You’re trying to find a bright spot in the darkness the world has become. That would be me.” Harry twisted under him and bucked into Malfoy’s thigh. How did this feel better than anything he’d ever known? Malfoy was barely even touching him and yet Harry’s whole body felt like it was on fire from the stimulation. He wanted him. He wanted Malfoy to get hard, he wanted Malfoy to plunge inside of him and fuck him without mercy, he wanted _Malfoy_ to want that. Malfoy sneered as Harry’s chest heaved and he fought to catch his breath. “How much has your perception warped of me now that you know I’m every bit as dark as everything else that’s lying in wait for you outside that door?”  
  
Harry moaned and thrust up into Malfoy, trying to force words of denial out of his mouth. “You’ll always be my beacon,” Harry panted followed by breathy little gasps as he rotated his hips into Malfoy’s thigh. “Fuck, I want you so much.” Harry groaned and pushed out, “You can’t take that from me. You _mean_ something. Hell, you mean _every_ —”  
  
And, suddenly, just like that, Malfoy was gone. “Don’t,” Malfoy growled fiercely as he knelt on the bed. “Don’t tie yourself to me,” he demanded. “In a world like this, people don’t last long so don’t make me your life, Potter.”  
  
“God, fuck, don’t stop,” Harry begged as he tried to twist closer to Malfoy only to have him move further away. No, no, no, he would die if they had to stop now. He sat up, panting, red-faced and furious. “Is that why you wanted me to join your little crusade, to commit myself to a cause, to a life, outside of you?”  
  
Malfoy didn’t even try to deny it. “One of the many, yes.”  
  
Harry tugged him closer by his shirt and forced out through clenched teeth, “And what if I don’t want a world outside of you? What if you’re all I want to know?”  
  
Malfoy untangled Harry’s fingers from his shirtfront and his eyes went hard. “Then the world has failed you. Spectacularly. And you’ve been broken far beyond repair.” He pulled off of the bed entirely and said cheerlessly, “You would no longer be the boy that I once knew.” He started towards the door before turning around and saying enigmatically when he reached the handle, his eyes glinting silver, “More’s the pity because I quite idolized him.”  
  
Harry’s mouth dropped in surprise and he stared at Malfoy from his undignified position on the bed, his legs spread wide and his ridiculously obvious erection tenting the thin cotton of his new pajama pants and pointing at Malfoy as if in accusation. Harry couldn’t believe what he’d just heard, not only did Malfoy respect him—which was a shock of its own—but he had idolized him?  
  
Malfoy smirked at him and said softly, “Get some rest, Potter,” before he closed the door behind him with a barely audible _click_.

  
_Standing up._

Harry came down to breakfast warily after a night of wide-eyed sleeplessness. He had taken a cold bath not long after Malfoy walked out on him, finding that not even his more painful memories could suffocate the desire still breathing in him. He hadn't been able to bring himself to touch himself and strangle the feel of Malfoy warm and willing against him.  
  
He took the stairs slowly, feeling unbalanced by all that had happened. He wanted Malfoy now more than ever and he was willing to do what he had to in order to get him, however uncertain he felt about it personally.  
  
The lurching sensation of missing a step wrenched at his stomach when he finally set foot on the landing and found Malfoy sitting at the dining room table. His head was bowed and, for the first time, there was nothing to distract him strewn about. No heavy tomes, no correspondence, no sustenance, just him and Harry.  
  
Harry cleared his throat and tried to feign an ease he didn't feel as he entered Malfoy's eye-line. "Are the brooms still unwarded?" His voice still shook slightly.  
  
Malfoy tensed as Harry's words struck him and he looked up slowly. His features were apprehensive and solemn as his eyes locked with Harry's. "I used it against you, Potter," he said hoarsely.  
  
Harry took a tentative step closer. "Used what against me?" he asked softly.  
  
Malfoy chuckled lowly, a sound that was utterly unamused. He rubbed a hand over his mouth and sighed. "The emotions you have. For me."  
  
"No, you—" Harry started, an almost-smile on his lips that was stopped dead in its tracks by the look in Malfoy's eyes.  
  
He was serious and cold when he demanded, "Tell me you aren't doing this because you think I would have continued if you were more like the boy I remembered."  
  
"I—" But Harry couldn't bring himself to deny it, and not least of which was because it was true. That _was_ the only reason he was here, the only reason he had asked.  
  
Malfoy nodded, unsurprised. He smoothed a hand over his forehead. "You thought it because I wanted you to. I used your affections against you," he admitted again. He looked up at Harry, his face heavy with guilt and apology. "I – I'm sorry," he whispered sincerely. "I never had any intention of finishing what I started last night."  
  
The effect of those words was immediate and Harry felt shattered under the weight of them. His knees went weak and his mouth dry and he felt like running away as fast as he could until he couldn't run anymore. "Then… why?" he pleaded brokenly.  
  
Malfoy snorted. "I believed the ends would justify the means." He clenched his jaw and gritted out, "I thought if you would _just_ ," he sighed and his voice became calmer, as if he'd given in to Harry's mediocrity, "be the man you could be, the man you _should_ be, that you'd forget my underhanded promise in favor of the fight." He shook his head, as if to chastise himself for such a stupid thought.  
  
Harry didn't know what to say to that. Was he that pathetic that Malfoy had to manipulate him and debase himself just so Harry would do what he should have been doing all along? Malfoy's guilt was like a palpable pall over the room and yet he had been willing to take on that pain, in addition to every other awful, parasitic emotion feeding off him, all to make Harry stand up and fight.  
  
Malfoy had done everything to prove his desire out, including something that was so seedy as to disgust even himself, and yet Harry hadn't made one single effort to show Malfoy that his own desires were worth his consideration. He fancied that he had these deep feelings, but he'd never done anything to establish them.  
  
Malfoy tongued his lip from the inside and said gravely, "It was cruel," he stared right in Harry's eyes and admitted without reserve, "and I was wrong." He stood and gazed down at the carpet as he promised, "I know it's difficult to trust but, I swear to you, I will never prey on your feelings again."  
  
Malfoy walked past him with a clipped nod, careful not to brush against him, leaving Harry empty and feeling like less than dirt.

* * *

Harry stood frozen in indecision until his gaze snapped around to settle on the pitch. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides and stormed through the manor. His breathing was choppy and he was shaking all over when he reached the broom shed but he was going to do this. He threw open the doors, thrust his hand in and grabbed the first broom he touched.  
  
He straddled the middle and tried to talk himself into opening his eyes. _I can make this fly_ , Harry thought determinedly, _I can make this fly because I don't_ need _to forget. I don't_ need _an escape._  
  
He tried desperately to believe the words but they were lies, weren't they? Who wouldn't need just a moment away from all of this?  
  
Malfoy. Malfoy faced reality, however harsh and despairing it was, and it was time Harry did too. _I don't_ need _this to make me forget_ , Harry thought vigorously, because it was time for him to remember, not only who he was but what the world had become.  
  
He kicked off from the ground and the broom wobbled and tilted but Harry managed to right it with tremulous hands. It didn't seem to obey his every whim but rather balk and stutter at his slightest command. There was nothing natural about it, from his pose to his movement. He looked like a true first-timer and Harry knew that if Malfoy threw a Remembrall now, he wouldn't catch it, he wouldn't make the team, he wouldn't prove to be anything special.  
  
Nothing changed or brightened from this elevation, it was still gray and bleak, his dead were still dead and he was still responsible. He gripped tighter with his knees and tipped into a shaky dive with his reticent broom.  
  
He realized all at once that it didn't trust him.  
  
He didn't trust himself and the broom could sense his lack of confidence and fed off it. It didn't believe he could fly because _Harry_ didn't believe he could fly.  
  
He scanned the field and saw a bright spot in all the gathering dark. His heart buoyed and he tightened his grip on the handle. "I can do this. _We_ can do this," Harry muttered under his breath as he shot forward and performed a semi-perfect barrel roll around the goalpost.  
  
He circled upward and narrowed his eyes as he shot back down, whispering fiercely, "I'm not dead yet," but the words didn't have any real oomph to them. He pulled out of the dive with his feet skimming the blades of grass and the breath of his own wind banking on his cheeks.  
  
Malfoy watched him with an unreadable expression as Harry pressed the broom into relying on him until he was making bolder and bolder moves. He wasn't at his peak and if his Hogwarts counterpart were at his side it was no contest as to which of them would win, but it was _something_ and he hadn't felt this good about himself in a long time.  
  
He only flew for a few moments more as he found he could only hold off for so long before he landed smoothly at Malfoy's side.  
  
He didn't so much as glance at Harry, his gaze distant and cold, as he said through a frown, "Tell me it wasn't for me."  
  
Harry swallowed. "I'd be lying."  
  
Malfoy rounded on him, torn between anger and apology. "Potter, I told you—"  
  
Harry held up a hand and licked his lower lip. "It's not because I think…" He tightened his grip on his broom and told him, "I'm not doing it because I think I should get something in return."  
  
Malfoy only looked at him with a closed expression on his face.  
  
Harry gazed up at him and said with as much sincerity as his voice would hold, "I want to be someone… someone you could be proud of. I want to be as strong as you think I am." He bit his lip and said slowly, "I want to be someone you want standing next to you."  
  
Malfoy's expression didn't change and he was quiet for so long that Harry thought he would just leave without saying a word. Finally, he walked over to the benches and sat down carefully, gesturing for Harry to join him. Harry jolted forward after a surprised pause and sat at Malfoy's side gratefully.  
  
Malfoy lowered his elbows onto his knees and turned to Harry with shrewd features. "How was it?" he asked finally.  
  
Harry took a deep inhale and admitted, "My dead followed me up there." He swallowed cold spit. Ron and Hermione were still dead up there and it wasn't okay. He fiddled with a broken thumbnail. It just was. He heaved a full-body breath and shrugged his shoulders. "The world," he said softly, "it didn't fall away."  
  
"Did you really expect it to?" Malfoy asked with plain curiosity. His shoulders slumped further and he wondered aloud wearily, "In an atmosphere that's as heavy, as _palpable_ , as this, did you really think that a few hundred feet would take you away from it?"  
  
"No," Harry said with an odd little grin, "but I hoped it would." He paused and said after a while, "It used to."  
  
Malfoy looked at him, really looked at him, and told him seriously, "Potter, it used to because we'd earned that privilege. Look around you—we've earned nothing here."  
  
He opened his mouth to ask how they could earn the silence, the _peace_ back, when he realized he already knew. And perhaps he always had. His fingers clenched around the broom as the thought rose up in him like a destructive wave: _You have to fight to earn it._  
  
"I want to fight," he stated suddenly and he knew it was true. _This was what Malfoy wanted_ , Harry realized, _for me to come to it on my own, to know it was what_ I _had to do._  
  
Malfoy stared at him like it was the first time he had ever truly seen him for exactly who he was and the most warming, and genuine, half-smile graced his lips. "Well, we'll have to do something about that then, won't we?"

* * *

They walked back up to the manor side by side and, for the moment, Harry felt strangely content in this world, despite its obvious drawbacks. He stumbled upon the reason why with an almost blinding clarity. He turned to Malfoy and watched as the dying sun painted his pale skin a dark red.  
  
"Malfoy, I—"  
  
A knock met their ears as they reached the portico doors and Malfoy said tiredly, "That'll be Severus," before he went in.  
  
Harry stood on the back porch and whispered to the weeping bells, "Love you."

  
_Marked men._

Harry stood before the glass doors feeling speared by a dismissal Malfoy hadn't even known he'd given. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides, turned on his heel and strode off onto the path into the gardens. He couldn't face Malfoy, not now, not while he was with _him_.  
  
Merlin, when did he get so fucking _fragile_?  
  
He was going to have to toughen up if he was expected to actually _fight_ for Malfoy. Harry paused just inside one of the greenhouses. No, he wasn't doing this for Malfoy. Was he? He honestly didn't know anymore and he couldn't even employ the brainpower it would take to figure it out because all he could think was: what the bloody hell did it _mean_ that Malfoy still called Zabini 'Severus?'  
  
Was it habit or was it something more? Maybe Malfoy couldn't let go of the illusion, no matter if Harry had peeked behind the curtain or not. Maybe even his death wasn't enough to purge Severus Snape from Draco Malfoy's heart. Maybe even if Harry were everything Malfoy could ever imagine wanting, it still wouldn't be enough.  
  
Harry snorted and remembered that Blaise Zabini both looked and acted the part and that that still wasn't enough for Malfoy. If that didn't prove it was a hopeless endeavor then Harry couldn't think of what would.  
  
He continued to wander listlessly through the greenhouse, looking but not really seeing any of the cultivated agriculture, when he tripped over an ingeniously placed potted plant and fell face first onto the concrete floor.  
  
With a groan, Harry rolled over and rubbed his nose, noting with relief that it didn't seem to be broken. He sat up gingerly and pressed a hand to the side of his head with a heartfelt, "Oww." He finally managed a squint and blinked at the plant he had fallen over.  
  
He found it rather odd that it appeared to still be scuttling about.  
  
He blinked a few more times and realized his vision wasn't what it had once been as his right eye was looking through a cracked lens and his left had no lens at all. He seemed to have misplaced it somehow mid-fall. Harry frowned, he was pretty sure those two were supposed to hang out together.  
  
He sifted about with his hands for the left side of his glasses while keeping a blurry, yet vigilant eye on the plant that was now emitting a high squeaking noise. His fingers finally settled over cool glass and he raised it gratefully up to his eye, holding the frame together with a thumb and forefinger as he looked out through a rather scratched lens, which had an impressive amount of fingerprints decorating it.  
  
He decided that that devilish plant bore a remarkable resemblance to a house-elf.  
  
"Ibby is being so sorry, Mr. Harry Potter, sir, so sorry," the plant was squeaking out in its high-pitched voice while it held its head with both hands and ran about in front of him. "I's be getting Master Draco."  
  
"No!"  
  
That stopped the frantic running and Ibby blinked tennis-ball sized eyes at him. "No?" he… she(?) parroted back in confusion, twisting what looked like the edge of a tablecloth in its tiny fists anxiously.  
  
Harry stared down at his splayed feet with pursed lips. "I don't want him here." The elf was looking at him oddly with big amethyst eyes and Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I didn't think any of you knew my name," he tried with a cringing smile.  
  
The elf grew serious and croaked out, "We is knowing your name but we is not believing it." Harry stared at it in question and the elf bowed its head. "We is thinking you is dead."  
  
Harry pushed himself to his feet with a breathless, bitter laugh, muttering as he wiped his palms on his shirtfront, "A disappointment even across species, I deserve a medal or something."  
  
The elf looked up at him with large, enigmatic eyes and said, blinking, "You isn't dead yet, is you?" Harry shook his head and Ibby clamored up on the table next to him and touched a finger to the frame of his glasses. It pulled back with a smile as a warm glow of magic twisted the metal into its former position. "Not a disappointment until then, Harry Potter."  
  
Ibby gave him one last inscrutable look before popping out of existence. Harry stared at the place the elf had just stood, feeling gobsmacked. How was it that a house-elf had just spoken more sense to him than anyone else had managed in years?  
  
He _wasn't_ dead yet, and even though he had hit upon that thought only moments ago, he hadn't really taken in its meaning until now. As long as he kept breathing then there was still time to fix things.

* * *

Harry was surprised to find that Zabini was still there when he returned to the manor. Both he and Malfoy were standing in the dining room and appeared to be deep in conversation.  
  
"This is non-negotiable, Severus," Malfoy said coldly.  
  
Zabini nodded sternly. "I understand." He fixed Malfoy with a piercing, almost recriminating stare. "I'm just wondering if you've considered the risk to not only yourself but others you would claim to protect." His voice had risen towards the end and he was practically huffing his disapproval.  
  
"What would you have me do?" Malfoy snarled. "There is no other course available to me. It must be done."  
  
Zabini reached out for Malfoy's cheek and pulled him close. "I would have you be safe, Draco," he growled before kissing him fiercely. Something in Harry snapped as their lips molded together and it was all he could do to keep from barging in and tearing the two apart.  
  
Malfoy allowed the kiss for a too-long moment before he pulled away, regarding Zabini curiously. Malfoy was still breathing choppily when Zabini added, "I would have you be smart." Malfoy perked a questioning brow and Zabini elaborated while he straightened his robes, "Now that _he's_ involved it's as if you expect everything to fall into place. There is still work to be done and yet you seem to be forgetting that in favor of a baseless optimism."  
  
Malfoy was silent for a moment before he spoke up in a calm tone. "It is more than we have had in three years, Severus. If this is not the time for optimism then I don't know what is."  
  
Zabini looked somewhat contrite but still held his ground. "I just don't want you to get careless because of it."  
  
Malfoy nodded and persisted, "Do this for me."  
  
Zabini bowed and started off toward the foyer, throwing over his shoulder, "Anything."  
  
Malfoy sighed and rubbed a tired hand over his face before he turned and saw Harry watching him. "I was wondering where you'd gotten to," Malfoy said without inflection, as though he really hadn't been all that curious.  
  
Harry took a deep breath and demanded, "What are you planning with him?" He had a right to know, he was a part of this now.  
  
Malfoy just gave him an unfathomable smirk and turned on his heel.  
  
"You lied to me, didn't you?" Harry blurted, but it was enough to make Malfoy pause. He clarified after a nervous gulp, "That day in Diagon." Malfoy seemed to stiffen and Harry asked a bit smugly, "What did you need in Obscurus Books, Malfoy?"  
  
Malfoy faced him slowly and answered coolly, "A solution."  
  
Harry squinted. "To what?"  
  
Malfoy gave a mocking laugh and said as though it were obvious, "This world, Potter."  
  
"Why didn't you just tell me?" Harry asked desolately after a moment.  
  
Malfoy was staring at him with an inscrutable expression when Eve jumped up on the table next to him and rubbed against Harry's elbow. Harry started in shock and blinked down at the tiny rabbit whose nose was twitching at him imploringly. "Not now, Eve," Harry scolded impatiently as he looked back up at Malfoy only to find that he was gone.  
  
Harry frowned and slumped into a chair at the dining room table as he scratched behind Eve's overlong ears, realizing that Malfoy had used her as a diversion so as not to answer.

* * *

Harry woke in a violent panic before he concluded it was only Eve, who for some reason was lying entirely on top of him and staring at him with pained eyes. The tiger reared back as Harry made to sit up and gave a weak mewling noise. "Whassit?" Harry asked groggily as he tried to kick-start his brain into wakefulness.  
  
Eve rolled onto her side, looking pitiful and sad as the silver stripes began to move and rearrange themselves. Harry stared in jaw-dropped amazement at the peculiar dance of liquid silver and he couldn't help but wonder if he was still dreaming. The darker obsidian began to solidify into a delineated shape and it only took Harry a moment before he recognized ... "Oh my god." He blinked at Eve with a frightened sheen over his too-green eyes. "That's Lucius Malfoy."  
  
He looked back and saw a shot of lighter silver in both of his blank eyes and a longer streak across his neck. Harry bolted out of bed with a gasp of, "Malfoy."  
  
He tore across the hallway and ripped open the door to Malfoy's room only to find it entirely unoccupied. Harry whirled around to find Eve at his heels and all but bellowed, "Where is he, Eve? Where's Malfoy?"  
  
Her only response was an agonized whimper.  
  
Harry gaped at her a moment longer before sprinting down the stairs and into the foyer, all the while trying to decide where Malfoy might be when a memory struck him dumb.  
  
 _"There might be Inferi or Imperius'd Ministry workers, perhaps even children…"_  
  
"The Ministry, that's where he's gone, isn't it?" Harry deduced triumphantly while Eve watched him pitifully. He scooped up a handful of Floo powder, far more than necessary but in his desperation he couldn't be bothered with measurements, when the flames roared and flickered a violent emerald.  
  
Harry was there to catch him when Malfoy stumbled out of the grate. His arm was bloody and he was walking oddly but he was still conscious. "Malfoy?" Harry questioned fearfully, brushing the hair back from his worryingly pale face, "Malfoy? Hey, look at me." Harry helped him to stand, throwing Malfoy's good arm over his shoulder and asking quietly, "What happened?"  
  
Malfoy coughed and leaned more heavily against Harry as he cradled his right side as best he could with his dead arm. "Inferius," he said grimly.  
  
"Your father," Harry stated while he eyed the gash in Malfoy's shoulder that was making his arm hang so oddly.  
  
"How?" Malfoy asked, coughing again.  
  
"Eve showed me," Harry answered simply. "We need to get you upstairs, I think there's still salve in the—"  
  
Malfoy's throat was raw and his voice scratchy when he cut in forcefully, "No, the lab."  
  
"I don't know—"  
  
Malfoy lost his footing for a moment and nearly dragged Harry down with him before he righted himself and pointed in the direction of the study. "Through there," he instructed coarsely.  
  
Harry eyed him skeptically, there was no ' _through_ ' when it came to the study, but he followed Malfoy's instruction regardless. Malfoy hefted his arm off Harry and hobbled forward until he was standing in front of the portrait of his parents.  
  
"Er, I don't think—" Harry started but swallowed down the rest of his words in shock as Malfoy placed his hand _through_ the frame.  
  
"Cloaked entrance," Malfoy grunted, sounding winded as he stepped through the wall entirely.  
  
Harry shook himself and hurried after him, getting Malfoy’s arm back around his shoulders and helping him through a torch lit hallway. He sidestepped through the only doorway and found where Malfoy must have been spending the bulk of his time while at home, if the simmering cauldrons and mounds of open and defaced books were any indication at least.  
  
"Where?" Harry barked as he set Malfoy down in the only spindly chair.  
  
Malfoy groaned and grabbed his shoulder with his good arm as he gritted out, "The back cabinet, teal label."  
  
Harry sorted through the mess of potions until he found the right vial and practically shoved it into Malfoy's hands.  
  
Malfoy smiled grimly at him and indicated the bottle. "Uncork it, yeah?"  
  
Harry yanked it away, feeling like a fool, and unstoppered it with unnecessary force before pushing it back into Malfoy's hands.  
  
"I'm fine, Potter," Malfoy placated as he tossed back the solution. He pulled a face and cringed. "Nothing but a scratch, really. It's nothing to get so frantic over."  
  
Harry collapsed in front of Malfoy, the adrenaline that had been holding him finally filtered away. He rested his head on Malfoy's knee and lamented, "I don't think I can do this. I can't even handle—I thought you were seriously hurt and I couldn't even…"  
  
He felt a hand drop onto his shoulder and looked up to find Malfoy staring at him shrewdly. "What do you get out of this, Potter?"  
  
Harry swiped at his eyes. "Out of what?"  
  
"Out of beating yourself up like this?" Malfoy squeezed once before letting go. He looked away and said tightly, "Severus broke his leg once in Galloway and I went about squawking like mad that we had to make a splint before he reminded me that I was a wizard and I had a wand." Harry smiled despite himself and Malfoy assured, "It's nothing to be ashamed of. We all fall apart at times and when someone's got as many cracks as we have, it's only a matter of time before we break. It's just a matter of not staying that way."  
  
Harry stared at him. Malfoy had never said ' _we_ ' before. What did it mean that he was voluntarily throwing in his lot with Harry? Harry shook himself. Did it matter what it meant? Wasn't it enough that he had?  
  
No, it didn't matter and, yes, it was enough. It was more than enough.  
  
"You really think I can do this, even though I've no training and I haven't even _held_ a wand in years?"  
  
"I do," Malfoy admitted softly. "Because you've got more reason to win it."  
  
Harry didn't know what to say to that and only managed to give a great sniff and wave his hand toward Malfoy's, now undamaged, shoulder. "So, what was all this for anyway?"  
  
"Your freedom," Malfoy said with a small grin.  
  
Harry's eyes widened. "You actually went and got it?"  
  
"You're gonna need magic, yeah?" Malfoy answered distractedly as he pulled a beaten-up book out of the front of his robes. At least that explained the mystery of why he was walking so strangely.  
  
"Are you sure about this?" Harry asked uneasily as he stepped up to Malfoy's side.  
  
Malfoy turned and looked at him seriously. "Do you want to fight? Do you want to pay him back for everything he's taken from you or do you want to hide behind that mark and my magnanimity?"  
  
Harry glanced down and, taking a deep breath, admitted, "There's a part of me that doesn't want to erase you from my skin."  
  
Malfoy sighed. "You'll just have to decide which part of you is more important."  
  
"I want to pay him back for Ron and Hermione," Harry declared after a moment, his eyes hard. "I want to pay him back for you."  
  
"Then come here," Malfoy said, his eyes overly bright. He lowered Harry back to his knees before joining him on the floor. He propped up the book at their side and admitted, "This is probably going to hurt," before he picked up something that glinted in Harry's peripheral.  
  
With a gasp, he recognized it as the same blade that Voldemort had used to engrave the mark in the first place. "What are you going to do?" Harry asked nervously.  
  
Malfoy's face was set. "I'm going to take it back."  
  
Malfoy held the blade tight in his right hand and twisted it around so that it was facing his opposite forearm. "Malfoy—" Harry started but Malfoy only pushed the blade in at the top of the skull. Harry was feeling ill as he watched the blood dribble down towards his wrist. "Don't look," Malfoy said gruffly and Harry turned away gratefully.  
  
When he turned back, there was a neat, if bloodied, line right down the center of Malfoy's mark, from the skull to the snake. Malfoy motioned for Harry's arm and Harry offered it gingerly. "I've to do the same to yours," Malfoy informed him breathlessly.  
  
He held Harry's arm safely in his lap and for a moment Harry felt calm, at least until the blade plunged in and then he was screaming at the top of his lungs. The pain was unimaginable and he could vaguely hear Malfoy cooing to him but the searing torment in his arm was too distracting.  
  
It seemed to last forever and Harry had either forgotten the agony of having the mark branded into his skin the first time around or it was even more intense now that Malfoy was trying to rid him of it. Finally the pain ceased and Harry glanced up at Malfoy through blurry, burning eyes. "Wh-what now?"  
  
Malfoy was slumped over on his hands and knees trying to catch his breath. He shook his head as if to clear it and scooted closer to Harry. "Now I use my blood and the magic he put in my Mark to try and convince yours that it's _him_ undoing this."  
  
"Will that work?" Harry asked in a raspy voice.  
  
Malfoy watched him inscrutably before saying, "We're about to find out." He held Harry's mutilated arm up so that his elbow was parallel to the ground and his forearm was straight up. He did the same with his own and then pressed their bloody marks up against one another's.  
  
The fire that shot through Harry's arm was almost incapacitating and it was all he could do to keep upright. The only thought that seemed to be screaming through his brain was that he had to break the connection and he instinctively tried to pull his arm away but Malfoy was there, anticipating him as his fingers clasped agonizingly tight around Harry's hand and held, his nails digging painfully into skin.  
  
And Harry knew he'd missed his chance as his brand now felt magnetized to Malfoy's, almost as if they'd been glued together.  
  
He whimpered and backed away as much as he could while the air around their arms began to glow silver. His only course of action now was to squeeze Malfoy's hand as tightly as he could in return and hope that he could siphon off some of his agony into his own hellish grip. The light was growing too bright and Harry couldn't even see Malfoy on the other side of him anymore but he could hear him shout, " _Exsculpo_."  
  
A melting sensation tingled in every nerve ending and the light began to retract back into the space between their forearms. As it disappeared entirely, Harry finally managed to focus on Malfoy and saw him smiling weakly as he finally pulled his sticky skin away from Harry's. "All right, Potter?"  
  
Harry nodded, even though no, he wasn't. He was shaking all over and he felt sick but, as he looked down at his forearm, he saw pale, unmarred skin winking back at him in the firelight. Not even the new slice in his skin remained.  
  
"S'a right kick, innit?" Malfoy said rather goofily.  
  
Harry stared at him. "Are _you_ all right?"  
  
Malfoy made to stand and ended up pushing a stack of papers and books down onto the floor with the effort.  
  
One of the books snagged Harry on the way down and he rubbed the red mark on his forehead roughly as he stared at the circled words right under his nose.

 

_"Severing a Magical Connection"_

  
  
Harry picked up the book and hauled it into his lap, his eyes skimming over the passages underlined in red.

 

_"During the Middle Ages, those who were capable of such powerful magic would place a brand on their wives or mistresses. It was usually only visible when the branded individual was engaging in activities that the original brander did not approve of, more often than not this translated to adultery. The mark would literally manifest on the person's skin as a way to ward off unwanted suitors."_

  
  
Harry skipped down to the next red section.

 

_"This device was used as not only a sign of ownership but also as a genuine magical connection between the marked and the markee. Men who spent years in battle used the brand to call their wives to them during a peaceful moment or even to alert them when they were back from war. It formed a sort of collective consciousness, the benefits of which were not lost on those in power._

_However, this method of connection soon created problems. A woman whose husband died in battle was unable to remarry due to the restrictions placed on her by the brand. She would be forced into chastity for the rest of her days. In the late 1200s, a macabre "solution" came to light._

_The rather brilliant witch Bridget Wenlock (See: Magical Properties, pg. 157), attempting to rid herself of her husband's brand, found that slicing open the visible mark and drenching it in Murtlap Essence and Acromantula venom not only rid her of the connection but also her husband's mistress of hers as well. Tragically, the previously unknown toxic combination proved fatal and she died only moments after her discovery._

_The practice of using magical brands has since been outlawed."_

  
  
Harry glanced around the lab, almost as if he expected to see the two ingredients jump out at him. "This is what you're planning, isn't it?" Harry demanded shakily, positively quivering with rage. "This will _kill_ you, you idiot!"  
  
He looked up to glare at Malfoy only to find that he wasn't standing in front of the desk any longer. Harry furrowed his brow with a questioning, "Malfoy?" He frowned and was just beginning to get to his feet when he spotted him.  
  
Malfoy was lying on the floor in front of Harry, and he wasn't moving.

  
_The head of the hydra._

Malfoy's voice was groggy and weak when he finally managed a croaky, "Potter?"  
  
Harry's head popped up out of his hands, which he'd been using to rub at his eyes, and he smiled feebly. "You're awake," he said softly. "Zabini said it was just exhaustion," he added, relieved that the man had been right. After Malfoy had slept more than half a day away, Harry had begun to have his doubts.  
  
Malfoy nodded distractedly, holding his head as though the pain in it suggested it would fall off. He wrenched open his eyes again into a squint and his gaze landed on Harry's unblemished forearm. His mouth broke out into a soft grin and he said a bit dazedly, though clearly pleased, "Will you look at that?"  
  
Harry stared down at it again himself, though he'd done little else since he'd taken up residence at Malfoy's bedside, wondering if any of it had been worth it. He shook himself and picked up the book at his feet, throwing it down hard at Malfoy's side. "I won't let you do this," he growled unapologetically.  
  
The change in Malfoy's demeanor was instant. The ease slid off his face and his lips pursed severely. He showed no signs of repentance as he bit out, "It's the only way to end it."  
  
Harry stood up and declared, brooking no argument, "This is my fight and I won't allow it."  
  
"Your fight?" Malfoy parroted back, slightly incredulous.  
  
"You're the one who drafted me into service," Harry reminded him defiantly. "It has to be me at the end, Malfoy. It's my prophecy to fulfill," he added quietly.  
  
Malfoy's voice was devoid of any sort of emotion. "Wasn't aware you knew of it."  
  
"But you knew." It wasn't a question. "It's why you needed me," Harry silently raged, having realized Malfoy's game sometime around the eighth hour of his unconsciousness. "Why you spent any time with me, why you persisted with me." He stared into Malfoy's dead eyes as a sneaking suspicion choked him and he let out a half-mad, strangled laugh. "For Snape. To avenge him," he accused.  
  
Malfoy's mouth hardened. "For more than him," he asserted stonily. He fixed Harry with a cool stare and laughed suddenly, just this side of cruel. "You have no idea how pleased I was to know you were still alive, I thought for sure—" he shook his head but kept on, "but there was still hope in you. I only tried to make you see the same."  
  
Harry deflated a bit and admitted, "I do, now. Because of you." He gestured to the fallen tome at Malfoy's side. "That's why I can't let you do this."  
  
Malfoy threw his sheets off the bed with vehemence and stood up so unexpectedly that Harry found himself practically nose-to-nose with the furious man. Though Malfoy didn't seem to mind as he almost reveled in pushing him back with an upsettingly weak shove.  
  
"You're blinded by this… _thing_ you have for me," he bemoaned, more than a little belligerent. He fisted the front of Harry's shirt, his eyes entreating him to understand. "The Dark Lord is weaker now but his followers have only gotten stronger. He's little more than a figurehead, understand?" He gestured wildly with his hands and demanded, " _Why_ do you think I've kept my tongue so long? Ending him doesn't end _this_. You know what happens when you sever the head from the hydra, yeah? He's still in power due more to tradition than clout. Poisoning the source is the only way to finish it."  
  
Harry clenched his jaw and looked away from Malfoy's determined face. "We'll find another," he gritted out seriously. "If only another Mark to cut open," he conceded.  
  
Malfoy shook his head desperately. "It's a sacrifice that must be _willingly_ given," he explained, as if Harry were a bit slow on the uptake. "You're weak when it comes to me, Potter," he said finally, as though he were forgiving some sickness in him. "Cut yourself off from whatever it is I stir in you. You know this is our best chance."  
  
"I won't let you die," was the only response Harry could bring himself to muster.  
  
Malfoy's eyes positively blazed. "I can't believe you're letting such quibbling, fleeting emotions stand in the way of _ending_ this. Sacrifices have to be made."  
  
Harry felt as if he'd grown another foot as the anger in him began to build and match Malfoy's. "And you don't think you've sacrificed enough?" he all but snarled. "You've practically given your humanity for the effort!" He snatched Malfoy's wand off the bedside table and, pointing it at the book, cried, " _Incendio_ ," feeling vindictive and powerful.  
  
Malfoy looked dangerous and he was nearly seething as he strangled out, "Potter—"  
  
Harry threw the wand down on the bed next to the charred remains of that fatal book, the accomplishment of casting his first successful spell in _years_ drowned out by Malfoy and his idiotic, self-destructive plan. The magic was still tingling in his extremities when he narrowed his eyes at Malfoy and said coldly, "You died with him and he would be so disappointed."  
  
Malfoy's eyes widened and Harry could tell he'd gone too far but, for once, he didn't care. It was honest and, Merlin knew, Malfoy could use a shit-ton more of that. He turned on his heel, barely remembering to throw over his shoulder coolly, "The Order's waiting for you. Come down when you're up to it."

* * *

Harry paced his bedroom floor with his hands clasped behind his back, Eve acting as a tireless sentry whose sightless eyes followed his every movement from her sentinel position on the bed. He knew he had every right to be a part of the Order meeting, to even take the helm if he so desired, but he didn't know those people, couldn't trust them and, as Malfoy explained, their only function would be to clear the path for Harry to get to Voldemort. So he didn't have to learn to do either.  
  
Harry bit his lip in sudden anxiety and rushed down the stairs determinedly to find Malfoy sitting three-up from the bottom. He turned at the sound of footsteps. "They've decided to attempt to break Erebus," he told Harry tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face. He had still yet to recover his strength from the night before and, Harry couldn't help but notice, that he didn't really seem to be gaining it back all that quickly. He sighed. "Successful or no, it'll be soon."  
  
Harry walked past him and plopped down on the bottom step, unable to face Malfoy as he mumbled, "I don't think I can do this."  
  
Malfoy didn't even ruffle, just answered as if he'd expected the declaration any moment. "You can," he responded easily. "Because, for the first time, you want to. It's your fight, isn't it," he deadpanned, and Harry turned to find a sour look twisting his face.  
  
Harry's eyes became anguished as he admitted, utterly ashamed of himself, "I'm scared."  
  
Malfoy nodded. "I wouldn't expect anything less."  
  
Harry swiped at his eyes before he could embarrass himself further and scoffed. "You're not, are you?"  
  
"Not of this," Malfoy admitted quietly.  
  
Harry pinned him with a questioning stare and Malfoy sighed. "You terrify me, Potter," he said softly, looking down at his hands.  
  
Harry's brow furrowed in confusion and he blurted out, "Why?"  
  
Malfoy gave a breathless chuckle. "Because you haven't given up yet."  
  
Harry frowned and reminded Malfoy slowly, "I've only just started."  
  
That breathless chuckle again along with a snort and Malfoy said, "On me, idiot." Harry's eyes widened and Malfoy picked at his thumbnail as he said flatly, "Dumbledore was right about you. Even through all this you've never lost your ability to love." He peeled off a bit of the nail and said in a would-be calm sort of tone, "The fact that it's still possible for you, after _everything_ … that's pretty frightening. To me at least."  
  
"Because it means you're still capable, too?" Harry guessed quietly, not looking at Malfoy.  
  
"Something like that," Malfoy answered so softly that Harry almost didn't hear it.  
  
Harry turned to look up at him and his mouth quirked. "You talk more now," he observed.  
  
Malfoy knocked Harry's elbow with his knee lightly and retorted, "You deserve it more now." He gestured to Harry's arm and said seriously, "You've given me something to be proud of in a life filled with regrets." He perked a blond brow. "Not too shabby, eh?"  
  
Malfoy's eyes were soft and there was real faith in Harry buried deep in them that he found completely intoxicating. Without his brain's consent, he had turned on his step so that he was half-kneeling on it and half-leaning over Malfoy. He licked his lips, staring at Malfoy's own, and managed to ask breathily, "Can I?"  
  
Malfoy's eyes were wide and he seemed frozen by Harry's actions but Harry was too far gone to wait for an answer, the question only serving as a weak preface to a chapter that was going to happen regardless. "Malfoy," he breathed out against his perfect pink mouth.  
  
A thump followed by a pained groan startled Harry back while Malfoy jumped to his feet, looking worn around the edges, though somehow apologetic as he gazed down at Harry. "Severus," was his only explanation as he walked away with a grave frown.  
  
By the time Harry reached the originator of the sound, Malfoy was already kneeling over him, his hands at frantic work. Harry started and hurried over to his side, finding a bloodied and beaten Severus Snape at Malfoy's feet.

* * *

It was beyond pathetic that Harry was jealous of the attention Malfoy was paying to a dying man and it was not something he admired in himself besides. He was stronger now though, not the same Harry who would curl up on the carpet in the fetal position until Malfoy deigned to notice him again.  
  
He nicked a bottle of brandy from the downstairs bar and wandered out to the Quidditch pitch while Malfoy played doctor.  
  
He hadn't gotten very far into the bottle, mostly due to the fact that brandy was _vile_ rather than a lack of opportunity, when Malfoy found him lazing on one of the benches.  
  
Harry squinted up at him, the raucous rays of the dying sun eating away at Malfoy's definition. "How is he?" he asked instantly.  
  
"He'll live," Malfoy said with pursed lips. He settled down next to Harry and narrowed his eyes to look across the field. "I have something for you," he said without inflection.  
  
"Oh yeah?" Harry said, for lack of anything better springing to mind.  
  
Malfoy turned towards him with a half-smile and plucked something out of his inside pocket. It took a moment for Harry's eyes to focus on it in the brightness but, when they did, he could see why Blaise had near-died in his attempt to get it.  
  
Malfoy was holding his wand.  
  
Harry reached out for it with tentative fingers and slid it carefully from Malfoy's grip.  
  
"It's something, isn't it?" Malfoy asked, shading his eyes and a real smile in his voice.  
  
But, no, it really wasn't. It was all a bit anticlimactic, really.  
  
Harry tightened his grip but there was nothing, no spark of recognition in it, and for a moment he was beyond terrified before he realized that he should have expected this. He wasn't the same person, he didn't have the same ideals, he wasn't the man this wand had been loyal to and, as he flexed his fingers around it, he thought they both had the same epiphany: _this will be our last adventure together_.  
  
"I'd almost forgotten," he lied. In a way, he was crushed. This wand reminded him of an innocence that he could never get back but it also meant the loss of a naïveté that had always kept him from seeing the world for what it truly was. He was still staring down at the last real remnant of his vanishing childhood when he felt Malfoy stand beside him. Harry jumped up to meet him, jamming this wand he no longer felt any connection to in his back pocket, and demanded of Malfoy's retreating figure, "Aren't you going to train me?"  
  
Malfoy turned around again, squinting against the sun, and shrugged. "Aim for Voldemort." Harry stared at him, barely refraining from gaping, and Malfoy snorted. "What, you need more than that?"  
  
Harry stared at him in disbelief. "Malfoy, I haven't held a wand in ages."  
  
"It's like riding a broom." And though Malfoy tried to stop it, he couldn't quite stifle his laughter.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes but couldn't help his answering grin either. "You're a great help, thanks," he lamented sarcastically.  
  
Malfoy's smile receded and he came closer to Harry as he said seriously, "He stole your life, Potter, even before all this. Make him pay for that. Avenge your friends, avenge your parents, avenge the life you should have lived."  
  
Harry swallowed and peeked up at Malfoy through one eye. "Yours too, yeah?"  
  
Malfoy looked away before he said hoarsely, "He owes me that, not you."  
  
Harry was nodding before he realized Malfoy didn't mean Voldemort, he meant… "You-you mean Snape, don't you?" Malfoy's stony silence was answer enough. Harry let the sound in the silence press in around them for a moment before he piped up, "Will you ever forgive him?"  
  
Malfoy scrunched his face up and tilted his head back to look at the sky. "Maybe in a different world," he answered after so long that Harry had nearly forgot the question.  
  
Harry sat back down on the bench, defeated, and clasped his hands between his knees, staring at the green of the grass. "Sometimes I imagine it different, too," he said softly. "A world where I didn't have to relearn what it meant to be _me_ , where I did everything I was supposed to and my friends are still alive, a world where I wasn't a bloody coward," he cast a surreptitious glance Malfoy's way, "a world where we never even met."  
  
Malfoy resumed his former seat as well and snatched the bottle of brandy up from where Harry had placed it near his feet. He took an impressive swig. "You've never been a coward, Potter. Just because you chose not to fight doesn't mean you'd cower under the bed if it came to your doorstep." Malfoy shot him a sideways glance. "You took a reprieve from war, it's only your bad luck that it can't be won without you."  
  
Harry watched him for a moment before he noted with squinty eyes, "You're different towards me."  
  
Malfoy tossed back another swig of the bottle and leaned back on the bench, sighing, "Maybe… maybe it's my first step towards the hope for a different world." He gave a voiceless laugh and shook his head. "Or maybe it's just that my demise has been so inevitable, so unspoken and understated and yet utterly imminent, right up until the moment you said otherwise that now I'm actually trying to carve out a life for myself." He put down the bottle seriously and hung his head. "You were right about me," he said after a beat, his voice raw, "I did die with him."  
  
Harry let the silence stretch, unsure what to say to break it. He was glad Malfoy had admitted as much but he didn't feel like it would be particularly apt to say so.  
  
"You believe it then?" he asked after the question had eaten at him long enough. "That you'll survive this?" he clarified. Harry wanted to add ' _just because I said? Just because I suddenly decided that you couldn't die, you believed it?_ ' but he didn't dare for fear Malfoy would change his mind about embracing his own survival.  
  
"I believe in you, Potter," Malfoy said so matter-of-factly that Harry almost believed in himself too.  
  
Instead, he questioned, rather dottily, "Why?"  
  
Malfoy offered him a good-natured smirk and asked puckishly, "What else am I going to believe in?" He stood, Harry noticing he still had the bottle of brandy by the neck, and started off toward the manor. Harry breathed in deeply, closing his eyes, and tried to smell spring on the breeze. He was startled out of his tranquility by Malfoy's sudden, "Hey, Potter?"  
  
Harry turned towards him with a scrunched, questioning gaze.  
  
Malfoy paused, as if determining whether or not to part with the information. "I've never really let myself feel him," Malfoy said tightly after a moment. "Don't shut out your dead the way I have mine."

* * *

It wasn't even two days later when one of the Order members who had been popping in and out of the manor with frightening regularity, giving Harry the opportunity to get used to them and they to him, grabbed Malfoy by the elbow and said gravely, "It's time."  
  
Harry instantly grabbed Malfoy's other arm and insisted, "You're too weak." Malfoy still wasn't at his full strength after his 'bout of stupid and risk-taking idiocy' as Zabini called it. Even now, Harry couldn't help but feel a bit betrayed over the fact that Malfoy hadn't told him how dangerous it was but had seen fit to inform Zabini.  
  
"I'm strong enough for this," Malfoy countered easily.  
  
He had just started off up the stairs when Harry walked up behind him, spun him around and hedged desperately, "I don't want you to go."  
  
Malfoy sighed exasperatedly and grabbed Harry by his shoulders in a strong grip. "Potter, this isn't about _us_. There is no us," he said bluntly and, again, Harry thought he would have to teach Malfoy how to sound less severe about things. He knew he hadn't meant for that to be cruel but his tone didn't help cushion the blow any.  
  
Malfoy huffed hair out of his eyes distractedly before barreling onward. "There's your life and there's mine and they've been wildly different up to this point, the common denominator being _him_ and how he broke the both of us. That's why you're here. That's why I'm here. To make sure he can't do that to anyone else."  
  
Harry stared down at his trainers. "You're all I have left," he told the other man quietly.  
  
Malfoy shook his head wearily and his eyes were strong and honest as he told him simply, "No, Potter, you have _you_."  
  
"And I never had you, yeah?" Harry countered bitterly, while a part of him knew that he was stalling. Whether for Malfoy or for him though he wasn't sure.  
  
"What does it matter?" Malfoy demanded, his anger getting the better of him for a moment. "This isn't about me. This is _your_ fight and you're the one it comes down to. You get to prove to yourself that you're still Harry Potter. You're a hero and, much as I despised it in school, you deserved all that worship back then. Go earn it again," he implored, "go be brave, go be confident, go be _you_."  
  
"I'm not sure I know how to anymore," Harry confessed honestly.  
  
"Remember the people who once made you feel most like yourself," Malfoy advised with enigmatic eyes and a barely there smile. He pushed Harry up the stairs slightly and ordered softly, after a disappointed pause, "You should get your wand."  
  
Harry tried to make sense of Malfoy's words but could only concern himself with one thing at the moment: "You'll wait?"  
  
Malfoy nodded once. "I promise."  
  
Harry tore into his room and found his unfamiliar wand resting on the nightstand. He turned back towards the door just as it started to close and he near-growled in his franticness, "Not now, Eve."  
  
"Haven't changed that much, have I, mate?"  
  
Harry started so violently that his knees buckled as Ron watched him from in front of the closed door. He just barely caught himself on the bed when he heard a soft voice next to him say, "You said to us once before that there was time to turn back if we wanted to." He turned to look at her and she smiled at him with warm brown eyes, prodding, "We've had time, haven't we?"  
  
He tried to make his mouth form her name but he couldn't force his lips into compliance, he could only stare at her, tears pushing their way up from his diaphragm in a way that _hurt_.  
  
"We chose this, Harry," she said blamelessly, placing her hand over his and, god, it touched. He could touch her and some choked and garbled non-word broke from him as he squeezed her hand tight in his grip, so tight it was probably painful but unable to let up in the least. "We chose to follow you," she said softly.  
  
 _But you didn't know_ , he wanted to say, _you didn't know I'd fail_.  
  
Ron shook his head as though he'd heard the thought and Harry couldn't get over how _good_ they both looked and how _wrong_ that was. They were dead and they were gone forever and there wasn't a single person who knew the whole story that wouldn't lay the blame for it at his feet.  
  
"We never thought we made a wrong choice either, mate," Ron countered the ideas in his head easily. "We always knew what we were up against and, more than that, Harry, we knew _you_."  
  
Harry was crying pitifully, snot running down from his nose, as he slid onto his knees and leaned back against the bed frame, begging, "Please, just leave me alone."  
  
Ron pulled Harry's hands away from his face and grinned into it. "Not a chance."  
  
God, Harry had forgotten how many freckles Ron had and how red his hair was and how _young_ he looked when he smiled like that. God, they were both so young.  
  
Hermione was at his side now and she brushed the hair away from his scar with a glance at Ron. "We're your best friends, Harry," she placed a hand over his fist and smiled, "we wouldn't let you do this alone. It was always meant to be us at the end, wasn't it?"  
  
Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder, his stupid big grin unstoppable and so, so painful to endure. He was so alive at that moment that Harry wanted to rail at the whole goddamn universe. The bow of his lips was like a shot to Harry's ribs and it left him with a horrible pang. Ron shook his head good-naturedly. "In case you haven't gotten it." He muttered under his breath, "and it doesn't seem as if you have," before he grinned brightly and continued, "We'll go with you, wherever you're going. Whatever happens."  
  
 _You can't_ , Harry wanted to say but he couldn't talk around the ache in his throat.  
  
Hermione frowned at Ron as Harry dropped his head onto his knees, anything just to stop seeing them. She stroked his hair and told him softly, "It's okay to mourn us, to wish we were there, to _miss_ us."  
  
Harry finally managed a coherent sound as he choked out, "I can't." Didn't they understand that if he started then he would never be able to stop?  
  
"Yes, you can, Harry," Ron disagreed and Harry looked up at the certainty in his voice. He had wandered over towards the bathroom and gave off a whistle when he saw how posh it was, jerking an approving thumb at it when he noticed Harry watching him.  
  
"We're with you. Always," Hermione asserted while rolling her eyes at Ron's antics with her indulgent Hermione-smile. God, Harry had forgotten it. How unique and encouraging and perfect it was. He had always been surprised by how little it had changed between fourth and fifth year after Malfoy's jinx. But he supposed it was something that would always be hers, even if she wasn't around to give it anymore.  
  
Her eyes sparkled with a certain sadness. "You lost us but we became a part of you, a part that you've been denying yourself."  
  
Ron puffed out his chest and winked. "Gotten some extra smarts from me. You know Hermione," he said in a stage whisper, "all she's really got to offer is her looks." He stared between the two of them, considering, and shivered. "Though the combination of your hair, Merlin, I shudder to even think of it." Harry couldn't help the sudden guffaw that escaped him or the warmth that seeped into him at Hermione's own bright laughter. It was just so absurd, his dead best friend popping off about the state of his hair.  
  
Ron turned serious a moment and said as though it were painfully obvious, "You can do this, Harry. You've just got to stop doubting it."  
  
Hermione patted his arm and added, "We're proud of you, you know."  
  
And Harry found that he did, though he hadn't believed it until right then.

* * *

Malfoy glanced up at him when he finally reached the foyer and stood by his side in front of the Floo. He studied Harry with an unreadable expression before he asked curtly, "Ready?"  
  
Harry started in breathlessly before Malfoy had even gotten the word out. "You want me to give up on you," Harry stated inarguably. He swallowed and said simply, "I won't." Malfoy's features went hard and Harry gripped Malfoy's forearms tightly in his hands as he grinned. "It isn't _all_ about you anymore though."  
  
Malfoy's answering smile was slow to bloom and incurably cautious. "That's something though, isn't it?" he said softly before Harry leaned forward and pressed a quick, claiming kiss to the smooth skin of his cheek.  
  
He stepped into the dancing flames without a backward glance, thinking only that, yes, he _was_ ready.

  
_T h e   e n d, it finds me again._

Harry curled his fingers around the cold metal, the iron warming to meet him like an old friend while rusted flakes cracked off in his palm. "It seems so harmless now," he whispered into the stuffy silence as he turned to look over his shoulder, finding Malfoy a reassuring presence behind him.  
  
Eve was standing regally at his side in the form of the tigress, her head held high and her gaze focused down the hall a ways, a momentary guard against their inevitable war. Malfoy himself was framed starkly in the flickering torchlight and there was a quiet dignity to him that had never really been there before.  
  
Harry stared back into the empty cell and said absentmindedly, "Seems a bit stupid now that I couldn't just," he tugged at the open door until he'd pulled it all the way back, the sound of metal-on-metal grating against his eardrums painfully, "find my way out."  
  
Malfoy's mouth tightened. "You can stop it happening again. You can fight the men who caged you."  
  
"That's why you brought me down here then?" Harry asked knowingly, "To remind me of what I had to fight for?" He paused a moment and didn't glance at Malfoy as he added softly and without condemnation, "Aren't you one of those men?"  
  
Malfoy walked up behind him and twisted his own fist around the bar. "Yes," he hissed finally. "I traded my innocence for _his_ freedom."  
  
Harry stared up at him with furrowed brows. "Do you regret it?" And he felt like he was waiting on tenterhooks as he paused for Malfoy's response, the answer seeming too important to ignore.  
  
"We'll be spotted and the game will be up before we've moved our first pawn if we linger here much longer," Malfoy bit out finally before he started off down the passage.  
  
Harry felt bitter at the lack of a proper answer and clung more fiercely to the bars. "You've given me back myself," he called out after a moment and Malfoy paused. Harry looked into the small expanse that was his life for far too long and felt revulsion rise up inside of him. "You've given Harry Potter meaning for me again."  
  
Malfoy watched him cautiously and Harry smiled grimly. "I don't know whether to be grateful or furious for that."  
  
"Furious?" Malfoy parroted back without inflection and a squinted gaze.  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes and his hands twisted around the bars, his palms streaked brown and raw from the rusting metal. "You didn't think it'd be the least bit cruel?" Malfoy gave no reaction and Harry jerked his chin in the direction of the grime-covered mattress. "I'd given up and it was—there was no shame in it because that was all there was left to me." Harry hung his head and snorted. "I'd given up. And the Harry Potter I was, the Harry Potter I'm coming to be now," Harry's voice hardened and his gaze became flecked with ice as he finished viciously, "can _never_ forgive that."  
  
He pushed past Malfoy coldly, throwing over his shoulder as he pulled his wand out of his robe pocket and grasped it in his merciless fist, no spark of comfort coming up to meet him from the worn wood, "Let's get this over with."  
  
He didn't wait for a response as he made his way through the underground courtrooms that Voldemort's reign had turned into even more unfeeling dungeons. Malfoy eventually gained the lead, Eve's ears perked and her tiger figure more hulking than Harry had ever seen it as she moved along sleekly at his side.  
  
They soon reached the stair that led to the marble atrium and Harry found himself reaching out for Malfoy's shoulder as he moved to raise the false bottom of one of the upper tiles.  
  
"You said you didn't hate me," he said urgently, gripping Malfoy tightly. "Remember, that first night, you said you never hated me." His voice sounded vulnerable and uncertain, as though he were asking Malfoy if that was still true rather than confirming that it once was.  
  
Malfoy turned towards him, his eyes hooded underneath the hair that had fallen over his forehead, and he nodded slowly. "I didn't know what hate was," he told him coldly. The silence felt charged between them, like something intense and deadly was lying in wait ready to strike. Malfoy's gaze was violent and his voice spread ice into Harry's bones when he finally hissed, "Now I do."  
  
And Harry's grip on him fell away in surprise at his vehemence. He realized he didn't know the kind of hatred that Malfoy spoke of and likely never would. Even after all that had happened, he had never wanted to _hurt_ the way Malfoy's voice begged to. Not even in regard to Voldemort.  
  
Malfoy broke the barrier above them and sound poured into the opening like rushing waves through a crumbling dam. Eve jumped through the square of light, baring her teeth and ready to pounce. Malfoy gave him one last inscrutable look before he, too, was gone and Harry was left alone.  
  
He took a deep breath, gripped his absent wand and pulled himself up out of hell only to find that he had stumbled upon something remarkably similar. Malfoy was already halfway across the room, a feral grin on his face as he strode with purpose toward one of the robed Death Eaters.  
  
The other man must have sensed Malfoy's presence because he whirled and fired off a Stunning Spell. Malfoy had his wand lifted but Eve was there before him, barreling into the hex, her body just opaque enough that Harry could see the red spark travel through her, stopping once it reached her stomach as though she'd simply swallowed it. She curled around Malfoy's legs as if seeking his approval before she tossed herself at the shocked Death Eater.  
  
As her paws hit his chest, red light erupted between them and he fell to the ground, Stunned. She returned contritely to Malfoy's side and he patted her flank appreciatively, an untamed smirk on his face. "Well done, Sureves," Harry heard him whisper sleekly.  
  
She bumped his knee with her head and then she was off, running through the atrium, spells sinking into her at an alarming rate. Harry was still watching her in awe when Malfoy said over his shoulder, "She'll clear a path."  
  
Harry jumped, not realizing how close Malfoy had gotten as he'd lost himself in staring after Eve. He gripped his wand tighter, more because he felt like he should rather than because he wanted it in his hand.  
  
Malfoy watched the action with a frown and Harry grinned uncomfortably. "It's all a bit—"  
  
"It's war," Malfoy cut him off coldly. His eyes were shaded as he bit out, "It's never what you expect it to be."  
  
Harry nodded. "Yeah."  
  
A large commotion drew their attention and Harry saw Eve about five hundred meters away, growing to a size that he had never even dared to imagine before. Soon she filled almost an entire end of the atrium on her own, her tongue hanging out of her mouth and a grin on her face.  
  
"That's my girl," Malfoy said softly, her grin mirroring his own.  
  
"She's a-a—"  
  
Malfoy nodded. "A Grim," he said, a touch of pride in his voice, "a harbinger of death if I ever saw one."  
  
Below her, robed figures were frantically casting curse after curse at her until the light was practically pulsing under her fur. "When I tell you, run through to the other side. The lifts are on the left and he'll be in the Minister's chambers on the seventh floor." Harry nodded stoutly, his throat feeling dry and Malfoy said softly, "Look at me."  
  
Harry did.  
  
"I have faith in you," Malfoy said, parroting Harry's words from what seemed like a lifetime ago back to him. Harry watched his grey eyes blaze for a moment and then he smiled, wide and _real_. He smoothed it into a smirk barely a second after, his gaze pleased, before he turned Harry around, gave him a light shove and growled in his ear, "Now."  
  
Harry streaked through the battling Death Eaters and warring Order members, his gaze set firmly on the gate to the lifts. Spells flung past him, some singeing his hair or catching the sleeve of his robes, but the only thing in his mind was getting to Voldemort. Nothing else mattered. The green of a Killing curse loomed large in his peripheral but a huge wall of silver crashed down between them before it could hit.  
  
Harry looked up at a ceiling of obsidian that, after a moment, he recognized as Eve's underbelly and he had to fight back a grin as he ran on. He threw himself under a falling pillar, his feet clanging against a metal gate as he slid safely out the other side.  
  
He righted himself in triumph and banged on the button for the lift, catching his breath before his eyes stopped on the veritable mob of Death Eaters that had finally caught up with him. He squeezed his wand, willing himself to be prepared, when a blur of silver slammed into his would-be attackers.  
  
Eve sat up, her tongue wagging, and looked to Harry, clearly pleased with herself. She had simply flopped down on her stomach and rolled over his aspiring saboteurs like a romping pup ready to play. And though, even now, her body was still lightweight, the spells she had stored within it were anything but and she had left nothing but unconscious bodies in her wake.  
  
Harry grinned widely and whispered, "Thanks, Eve," just as the lift bell dinged and then he was falling back into it, telling himself he was ready. He sunk back against the far wall, his hands clutched tight around the metal railing that ringed the middle, and breathed deeply.  
  
When the doors finally slid open, he had the sense that Malfoy should be at his side, there to avenge his innocence and his lost lover, but Malfoy wasn't the one with something left to prove. He had never lost himself in You Know Who's web the way Harry had and it was time that he took back everything he was from this monster that had done everything to rip it away.  
  
The door to the Minister's office was open as though someone inside it was waiting for him and Harry walked in to face his doom with quiet certainty. It was loud enough, however, that Voldemort's voice met him easily. "I thought you'd come." His long, white fingertips brushed against the windowsill as he stared out at the artificial view below him. His black-robed figure was stark and imposing against the pale light of day and he sounded civil, calm, as if Harry were a welcome guest popping over for a spot of tea. He gave a chilling laugh. "Heroes always come in the end."  
  
He turned to face him, his mouth tilted in rough amusement and his red eyes glowing. "And it seems, as thorough as my efforts were, that they were not enough to tear the identity from you."  
  
Harry shifted on his feet, his trainers squeaking slightly, and he swallowed, for some strange reason feeling at ease in this room. "No, you succeeded," he told Voldemort honestly and it felt right that they were being honest now. Because this was the end and they both knew it. One of them was not going to walk away from this and, knowing that for the simple fact it was, caused a lot of the anger and tenseness to bleed out of the atmosphere around them.  
  
Understanding settled over Voldemort's features and a smirk graced his thin lips. "Draco," he said in a soft, knowing tone. "My beautiful Judas," he dubbed him as he brought two fingers up to his bloodless mouth, "betrayed with his kiss. He gave you back yourself, nourishing your devotion even as he sought to break you of it." Harry started in surprise at Voldemort's words, or more accurately at the truth to them. There was a bitterness in his voice and Harry knew Voldemort could guess how it had happened because, and despite how much Harry may detest it, there was a kinship between them when it came to Malfoy.  
  
Voldemort didn't appear to need his confirmation and he spoke as if Harry had given it regardless. "He has that way about him," he tossed out coolly.  
  
Harry tightened his fist around his wand, fighting off his unease. Sharing Malfoy with Voldemort was not something he enjoyed dwelling upon. He cleared his throat and spoke up stiffly. "You knew."  
  
Voldemort shook his head carelessly as he circumvented the Minister's desk, letting his fingertips play against the dark maple. He hadn't even drawn his wand. "I thought him too dead inside to fight," he informed Harry easily. He grinned and the sight was chilling. "I admit, I am almost pleased to be proved wrong."  
  
Harry's lip curled and he clarified in a bark, "Snape."  
  
"Ah," Voldemort breathed, nodding, "yes, Draco and his imposter. That I knew. That I always knew." His feet were bare and lithe as he walked the length of the desk and said with a sneer, "Poor, dear Severus. I would have killed him myself, his shadow lover, had I not known that allowing him to continue on at Draco's side would be far worse punishment than any I could imagine. How much does it cut at him, just standing in the same room as his dead lover?" He glanced back at Harry, seeming genuinely curious.  
  
Harry's only response was a snarl, as if he'd let Voldemort know whether or not he'd been successful in torturing Malfoy.  
  
Voldemort nodded as though he'd expected his silence and sighed. "I imagine the agony must be debilitating." He looked plainly interested, as though he were discussing a favorite pet.  
  
Harry's wand hand raised in determination and his face became set. He was done with the small talk and this was the only warning Voldemort would get before he struck.  
  
Voldemort wore a thoughtful frown as he told Harry what they both knew, "This is your fight, Harry," he said silkily and Harry barely refrained from spouting off a hearty, 'duh.' Voldemort's lips curled and he went on. "Your moment to prove to him that his efforts have born fruit. By all rights," he told him without quibbling, "you should walk out of this room with my blood on your hands." He smiled carnivorously. "But you won't."  
  
Harry's wand hand tightened again and he grinned, retorting through gritted teeth, "I don't know, all of that sounded pretty good to me."  
  
"We know the truth though, don't we, Potter?" Voldemort asked conspiratorially. His voice lowered and he hissed, "He backed the wrong horse." He finally drew his wand from his robe pocket and held it up to the light vertically between his two pale palms. He watched it as though it were the subject of deep study. "It'd be laughable if it weren't so pathetic," he threw out carelessly as his eyes stayed trained on the wand before him.  
  
"You're too weak for this, too pitiful and broken," he informed Harry without blame or reveling in it, as though it were simply his diagnosis and no matter how many tantrums Harry threw over it, it would still be his lot in the morning. "And he would have you carry the responsibility of his hope?" Voldemort said doubtfully, his crinkled forehead heavy with skepticism.  
  
He swished his wand down as though testing its springiness and said soulfully, "Deep down, we both know, he expects you will disappoint him. He has never thought you would carry this to the end. After all, what has he given you?"  
  
Harry watched him carefully as Voldemort spun his web once again, circling him. "He hasn't even graced your mind," Voldemort crooned as if this were a deadly blow and his red gaze affixed itself to Harry's bare forearm, "such an intimate bond and he couldn't wait to rid you of it." He glanced back up at Harry's face and Harry could feel him digging around inside his mind. He added in a worming tone, "An intimacy your worst enemy would grant you but not one your would-be lover could even abide the _thought_ of."  
  
It was true that Malfoy had never entered his mind but that was due to his respect for basic human boundaries. Wasn't it? Or had even the idea of being that close, that _intimate_ as Voldemort claimed, disgusted him?  
  
"Swallow your shame, Potter," the other man commanded suddenly and Harry snapped his head around to meet Voldemort's, having been so lost in doubt that he hadn't even seen his enemy move, "this frailty will work to your advantage because, in reality, you don't wish to kill me."  
  
Harry shook himself and snarled, "Oh but I really do."  
  
Voldemort had obviously anticipated his response because he grinned in a self-satisfied manner. "You never have been skilled at thinking before you act. I believe your godfather would agree. If you hadn't gotten him killed, that is." Voldemort's laughter was icy and biting and it was all Harry could do to keep from plowing into him. Voldemort twisted a pale hand as though tossing aside his reaction and returned to his speech. "You don't wish to win this war. I ask you to look beyond such childish concepts of good and evil and recognize me for exactly what I am. The devil you know, the lesser evil, the best option."  
  
Harry froze in indecision and Voldemort sensed it.  
  
"What will my death bring you?" he kept on, pounding the thought into Harry's head. "You'll still be here," he hissed, "in this muck, in this filth with these _traitors_ to their own kind." His own disgust usurped his face as he went on, condemnation in his voice, "After all, it didn't take much to get brother to turn with murderous intent upon brother, did it? The death of a savior, the whispers of promise and they were queuing up to fight in my army. Your loyal band is on the verge of extinction even as we speak."  
  
That snapped Harry back to attention as the automatic thought: _they aren't mine, just bodies to throw in the line of fire_ cropped up in his head. His wand creaked as his fingers tightened around it once again. _He doesn't know everything_ , Harry reminded himself viciously.  
  
Voldemort was still cocky and self-righteous as he lamented, "I tried to make you see it, to make _you both_ see it, that there was no alternative but to succumb to my reign." He paused and added thoughtfully, "Well, I suppose annihilation is still a viable option. But at least now our Draco is protected."  
  
Harry's gaze whipped up to find Voldemort's but he knew he had Harry's attention without having to see it.  
  
"The moment my body hits the floor, they will come for him, and he will die." He seemed to be warring with himself as his tone wavered between his continued manipulative glee and a soft, earnest gravity. "And it will lie solely at your feet. Haven't you been the cause of enough death without adding Draco's to the list?"  
  
"He wants you over," Harry spat, clinging to that knowledge fiercely.  
  
Voldemort's eyes blazed and his glaring retort was slicing and instant. "Not for any great purpose," he all but snarled, "but for a petty revenge." The fire in his gaze danced. "For the life he could have lived with his beloved Severus had I not lived mine."  
  
Harry couldn't refute the claim but neither did he know it for fact.  
  
Voldemort placed his wand back on the smooth wooden tabletop mockingly, saying without words that Harry wasn't even the weakest of threats to him. He spread his arms wide and stated inarguably, "I am the only thing standing between you and total anarchy. Without me, the only world of import devolves even further into chaos." He twisted around to watch the quiet street below and whispered against the cracked pane, his breath veined against the glass, "I keep the more dangerous at bay because I still have the sheer numbers and loyalties to keep them in line."  
  
Harry watched him in silence until Voldemort suddenly faced him and growled fiercely, "Take a good look, Harry Potter, for there is a reason I am the future."  
  
Harry's fingers itched as they faltered around his wand. 'Ending him doesn't end _this_ ,' Malfoy's voice screeched in his head. _And it will send them after you_ , Harry thought desolately. If he killed Voldemort, if he finished him, it would be tantamount to signing Malfoy's death warrant. He took an involuntary step backward…  
  
 _And the Malfoy in his head pleaded, 'Go be brave, go be confident, go be_ you _.'  
  
His response was automatic, as though they'd fought this same battle before. 'I'm not sure I know how to anymore.'  
  
Malfoy indulged him. 'Be like the Potter I remember,' he told him, 'witty, quick-thinking, unfalteringly brave.' Harry shook his head uncertainly and Malfoy gazed at him honestly and whispered, 'I believe in_ you _, Potter.'  
  
He took another step back while his mind insisted, 'I don't think I can do this.'  
  
'You can,' Malfoy fired back rousingly. His grey eyes softened and he spoke up in a tight voice. 'You've given me something to be proud of in a life filled with regrets.'  
  
But-but…_ _'I'm scared.'  
  
Malfoy's tone was harsh and unrepentant. 'Do you want to pay him back for everything he's taken from you?' Harry said nothing and Malfoy demanded of him, 'Avenge the life you should have lived.' He clutched Harry's shoulders and reminded, 'He broke the both of us. That's why you're here. That's why I'm here. To make sure he can't do that to anyone else.'  
  
_ But if he did this, then Malfoy _wouldn't_ be there anymore. _He hung his head and admitted, 'You're all I have left.'  
  
But Malfoy wouldn't have it. 'No, Potter, you have _ you.'  
  
 _And suddenly he was there, tall and proud, the way he used to be after he'd landed on the field in the wake of a successful Quidditch match and he was saying so damn sincerely, 'I want to be someone… someone you could be proud of. I want to be as strong as you think I am. I want to be someone you want standing next to you.' The Harry in his head, the Harry he used to be, winked at him and whispered, 'And all he's ever asked of me…'_  
  
Harry growled and finished the thought, _is to fight_. His emerald eyes darkened as his gaze shifted up to meet Voldemort's, his grip on his wand sure and strong. Something flickered in those red eyes and, in that moment, they both knew he had lost. Harry's grin was wolfish and wild as he barreled into Voldemort, snarling, "You're not _mine_."  
  
It was a simple thing to get his wand pressed to Voldemort's heaving chest and hold it there. Voldemort's own was still resting innocuously on the desk behind them where he'd teasingly placed it only moments before. Harry stared straight into his wide, shocked eyes and hissed through clenched teeth, "Voldemort. It's nothing. It's meaningless. Just like you," before the Killing curse rolled off his tongue for the first and last time in his life.  
  
His lifeless body fell from Harry's hold and Harry stared at it unfeelingly. He heard a _thump_ behind him and he turned to find Malfoy slumped against the open door. "Potter," he rasped, clutching his forearm. His eyes twinkled with a sort of perverse glee as they landed on Voldemort's limp form.  
  
His robes were stained a darker black in a multitude of places and there was a long scrape across his left cheek that disappeared into his hairline, one that was bleeding fairly profusely. Harry realized that Malfoy had been fighting a different war, one with _blood_ and a bit less decorum. He idly wondered whose was the more righteous battle.  
  
Harry strode over to his side and helped him into the room, throwing one damp arm over his shoulders. Malfoy pulled away from him once he was far enough in and stared down at the empty, red gaze and, for a second, Harry had a vivid image of him slamming his foot into Voldemort's ribs. But he didn't. He just stood there and stared while Harry watched him from behind a few feet away.  
  
His head was hung low and there was something off in the set of his shoulders that Harry couldn't identify. He just watched as though he expected something more would happen. Eventually Eve slunk into the room, curled around Harry's legs, and then sat silently at Malfoy's side.  
  
"How'd she do?" Harry asked quietly, wondering if he was allowed to upset the moment.  
  
"She was brilliant," Malfoy grunted and Harry clamped his lips together, knowing from Malfoy's tone that nothing more should be said for a long time.  
  
He waited patiently and it felt like ages before Malfoy turned away, his face pinched, and growled, "Let's go," to Eve who was instantly at his heel.  
  
Harry followed him uncertainly and Malfoy was nearly at the lifts before Harry said suddenly, "I never flinched away from you because I always expected you would hurt me." Malfoy froze, his back tense, and Harry tried to explain himself. "I'd been conditioned to expect nothing else for years, see? There was never another option really."  
  
Malfoy still wasn't looking at him and Harry swallowed painfully as he told him with brutal honesty, "If you hurt me now, I'll break. Do you understand that?" He took a step closer, needing Malfoy to appreciate that he _had_ to take responsibility now. He didn't need Malfoy to accept his feelings, or even believe them, but the man held Harry in the palm of his hand and all Harry asked was that he not be crushed by it. He wouldn't be able to withstand it if Malfoy did to him what he had done to Blaise.  
  
Harry reached out and placed his hand on Malfoy's shoulder tentatively, his fingers curling into the fabric of his robes until Malfoy turned to face him. "You have complete power over me whether you want it or not," Harry admitted softly, not looking into Malfoy's concentrated gaze. "I'm only asking… exercise it with caution, yeah?"  
  
Malfoy said nothing for a long moment and they stood frozen with Harry's words playing out between them until, _finally_ , Malfoy gave a single, curt nod.  
  
They didn't speak again until they were walking along the rough pavement of the street, having stepped over fallen Order members and Death Eaters with the same indifference and without batting an eye. Everyone appeared to know the outcome and all had fled, the righteous and the villainous alike.  
  
Malfoy turned suddenly and grasped Harry's elbow, insisting, "Come with me."  
  
To which Harry nodded, not having even the slightest idea of what else to do. Malfoy Apparated them to a sloping lawn, Eve rolling over on her back in the warm grass almost instantly. "It's a ways," Malfoy told him without really telling him anything at all but Harry followed without question or argument.  
  
It was maybe fifteen minutes later when they broke out on the top of a hill, Eve trotting along beside them as a braying horse, that Harry figured out where they were. He felt numb as Malfoy led him patiently to two unremarkable headstones.  
  
All he could do was stare down at them stupidly.  
  
"Tell them," Malfoy said quietly, his eyes shadowed.  
  
Harry fell to his knees and brushed one hand over _Ronald Bilius Weasley_ while the other dragged against the sharp and indented, _Hermione Jean Granger_. "I did it," he said softly, tears falling entirely unnoticed onto his robes. "It's the end," he told them weakly, "it's over."  
  
Malfoy stood over him, his lip raised as he stared down at Harry's best friends' graves. "Nothing's over," he said coldly before striding away from his side.  
  
Harry glared at him even as he understood what Malfoy was trying to say. He stayed with Ron and Hermione quite a while longer before he went to meet his stoic companion. He was standing at the foot of his own grave, two initials on it that looked as if they had been carved by hand:

 

 

_S.S._

  
"Maybe nothing is over," Harry agreed after they'd stood in silence long enough. He offered Malfoy a small, crisp smile. "But a lot of things have changed."  
  
Malfoy didn't answer and Harry noticed his eyes were pinched. Malfoy caught him staring and he gestured to the headstone, saying tonelessly, "The werewolf wouldn't allow his name."  
  
"He was trying to protect you," Harry hazarded.  
  
Malfoy placed his hands behind his back and stood up taller, staring down at the gray stone intensely. Eve was chomping after a blue butterfly in the form of a lumbering bear, swiping at it with her thuggish paws and trying to jump to its height.  
  
Harry looked back at Malfoy. "I'm not fearless," he said, watching the play of sunlight as it danced over Malfoy's face, "and I'm not a hero. I'm not like him but I hope you can find something worthwhile in me because you—you can make me feel like… you can make me feel."  
  
Malfoy's mouth tightened and he looked away, grunting, "I'm done here," before whistling for Eve. Harry did his best not to let his disappointment show lest it taint all they'd accomplished today. It wasn't long before they were all back at the Manor and Harry didn't think he was alone in having expected everything to be different.  
  
But nothing was of course.  
  
Harry walked up to his room and started to pack his things, feeling a certain deadness to his limbs and a hollowness in his chest. It didn't take nearly as long as he'd expected it to and by the time he stood at the front door with his suitcase in hand only a scant half hour had passed.  
  
Harry glanced up to find Malfoy smiling at him, soft but genuine. "You're free, Potter," he said with an unfamiliar warmth to his normally icy grey eyes.  
  
The wand in Harry's hand felt too rough and foreign. Some part of him still expected the feeling of home to envelope him the moment he touched a finger to it but he had only felt that in one place in the last year. He turned to face Malfoy fully and Malfoy gave him a short nod, circumvented him, and threw open the door. Harry stood on the threshold of a new world as Malfoy stepped aside. He gripped the tangible link to his magic in a tight fist and took a deep breath.  
  
He teetered on a precipice and, before he realized what he was doing, he had found Malfoy with his eyes and blurted, "I can't bring myself to take even a step away from you."  
  
Malfoy returned his pleading gaze with an impassive stare of his own, his features cold and blank, and Harry let his head drop. He could still remember when he thought Malfoy's disinterest in him a blessing. Now he would give anything to inspire even the slightest spark of passion in those grey depths. He didn't know what he'd been expecting but if he didn't know by now that Malfoy would never feel the same then this was his proof.  
  
He watched as Malfoy moved closer to the entrance, likely ushering him out, and he sighed heavily. He took a step forward just as the stoic man grabbed the door without a word and shut it quietly behind him with a soft _snick_. Harry stared at him, a question in his eyes, and Malfoy looked up with a slight smile on his face but, to Harry, it was as bright as the sun breaking out behind a bank of clouds.  
  
He felt as if his heart was bursting in his chest when he finally ran towards a man who welcomed him with open arms.

**Author's Note:**

> One of these days I am going to write a part two to this and play about with my new beasties and my broken boys quite a bit more.


End file.
